The Emancipation Denouement
by AThingOfBeauty
Summary: Amy's POV following on from Season 7 Finale and exploring Sheldon's re-boot and software update. I am using the new Sheldon.03 for some unashamed Shamy fluff (well, I'll certainly attempt it anyway). Feedback and opinions ALWAYS welcome. Please read, review and let me know what works and what doesn't. Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from any part of The Big Bang Theory.
1. The Esoteric Instinct Occurrence

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic  
**

**Chapter 1 : The Esoteric Instinct Occurrence  
**

If you love someone, then set them free

If they come back, they're yours

If not, were never meant to be.

**_Clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack…_**

The rhythm of train wheel on track helped sooth the pain. He closed his eyes and let the steady tempo transcend him from the maelstrom in his head, it's sound anaesthetising his brain, his panic loosening to fracture with the monotonous pulse. Menacing and unwanted, dark thoughts nestled there, compacted, ice-cold, thick and heavy in his skull. Their ominous warnings weighing him down till he was hobbled, heavy limbed and suffocating.

Gradually, the music of the tracks thawed the dam of anxiety and, though the thoughts continued to fall, cutting like sharp, biting snowflakes in a blizzard, they slowly started to melt away into the steady, unwavering pattern of the rails.

He breathed deeper, and somehow found the wherewithal to blow a baleful vision away with a puff as he exhaled, sending it spiraling to splinter and disintegrate, lost in the black abyss of his mind, now unable to take root; made safe. The cramped knot in his chest eased at this small victory.

He opened his eyes with a start as the train's euphonious rattle became muffled by the closed confines of a tunnel. Sitting in silence as the darkness engulfed the metal womb, he swayed in synchronization with it's consoling dance, and waited for the light.

**_Clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack, clickitty-clack…_**

She hadn't realized she was different. Not at first. At first, she simply didn't notice she was alone.

As a little girl the world had seemed an exciting and amazing place. The wonders that could be found in just a simple stem of grass could fascinate her for the whole duration of recess. She was scarcely aware as the other children jumped around, and sometimes over her.

When she did start to pay attention, on the whole she found them a confusing bunch, acting out pretend games with little dollies; mundane, workaday, pedestrian things. Why? Or worse, let's pretend to be Mummies and Daddies, you be the baby; or let's be ponies; let's be princesses. Why? She didn't understand. The world was a wondrous place; there was no need for this pretense when what you had before you was so breathtaking and mysterious. The need to tell people built inside her. She needed to let them know what they were missing in their foolhardy pursuits. And that's when she first noticed.

People, it seems, and particularly elementary school children, are not really interested in the wonders of the world, and they were most certainly not interested in Amy Farrah Fowler's thoughts on it.

Her indifference to her classmates was replaced by a strange curiosity for them, one that certainly was not reciprocated. She tried to speak to them, tell them about the breathtaking things she had read or simply observed, but they either stared back blankly, disinterested, or worse, turned away as if she hadn't spoken at all. She was alone. She was different.

"It will change in Middle School." Her mother reassured her. "You're too clever for them, that's all. People change when they get older and no longer play childish games Amy."

Things did change. They got worse.

No, the children no longer played childish games, now they played at being grown-ups. Now they formed exclusive little cliques, grouped according to status and interest.

Amy observed the slippery scrabble for superiority at the top of the social chain as well as the scrimmaging in the lower ranks among the geeks, the poor and the ugly, but found no slot to slip herself into.

The nerdy, clever kids were no match for her intellect and frankly, didn't need the competition. Occasionally, a kind-hearted middling girl would take pity and befriend her, but children's benevolence is often rather short-lived and somehow it was crueler to give her a glimpse of what might be than to just let her alone, shut out in her own solitary party of one. The awkward embarrassment that accompanied the inevitable breakdown of these magnanimous friendships only served to highlight how very different she was. If even someone she recognized as a kindly person could not abide her company then that, to her, spoke volumes.

She began to think of them as 'the others' and herself as an entirely different entity, a unique phenomenon. She found nothing that challenged this opinion throughout High School, University or in any laboratory she worked in as an adult. Until she met him.

Animals, she observed, have an uncanny knack of recognizing each other. Remarkable she considered when we believe them to have no sense of self. She always puzzled over the fish in her High School's tank, particularly the randy male Mollies, rampantly racing from female to female, instinctively ignoring fish of any other breed. She watched one especially enthusiastic aquatic lothario and wondered; how did he know he was a Molly? Even, years later, with the proud letters of a PhD tailing the end of her name, the definitive answer evaded her. Until she met him.

When she met him, she knew. What's more, she knew he knew too.

It was innate knowledge, an intrinsic sense; put bluntly, she sniffed him out.

He was one of her kind.

Romance was out of the question, he had no more desire for that than she did, but he was drawn to her nevertheless. Drawn by the same curiosity she felt for him, her interest, after all these years, finally returned.

After their first meeting, she was surprised by how little she was surprised when the texts and emails started. They were kindred spirits; each delighted to have finally found someone who spoke their language in a world of confusing tongues and illogical dialects. And it would have been enough. Enough to just have this one person who understood, but he gave her a glimpse of a life she'd previously only been a spectator to. A life she'd only observed from afar. One that all previous experience had shown her to be unattainable. He plunged her through the labyrinth, and she crashed dizzyingly through the catacombs of social rank straight to the center of the hive to land, slap-bang, right into the lap of a Queen Bee.

Who was this glorious creature? What was she doing driving them on their first 'date'? When he'd told her that his friend Penny had suggested they get to know each other better before they created their genetically superior prodigy, she'd formed a picture in her mind. A mousy girl; intelligent, but not on equal footing with Sheldon of course, after all, bar herself, who was? She was not expecting a Goddess.

Penny was an enigma. She puzzled at her beauty, her inane conversation in the car, and questioned her about her habits and opinions at the dining table, but found no answer to the conundrum. The chasm between Sheldon and his exquisite friend was vast. What was the bind?

She expected to find the answer in Leonard, but on acquaintance, found him tedious, nebbish and physically unattractive. She wondered how he'd ever managed to secure the affection of this divine creature, especially when his attributes were held up against the dazzling brilliance of Dr Sheldon Cooper. The thought stopped her in her tracks. It was a dangerous path to take. What she had with Sheldon was enough, she shouldn't think of him in any other way. It could only lead to disappointment; that much she knew.

When he moved to terminate their friendship, it was no more than she was expecting. It was, after all the way of such things, and she didn't pretend for a moment that there was an ounce of altruism in Sheldon's genetic make-up, nor that he could ever bear to admit the inferiority of his field of study when compared to hers; they were at an impasse. She resigned to simply walk away, chalk it down to experience once more. This termination followed the well-worn pattern of all her previous dalliances with friendship, and went without question. Deviating only when his mother called.

Twenty-five cats, that's what Mary Cooper had said. His mother believed that the breakdown of their relationship was sending Sheldon into meltdown.

Had she been mistaken in dismissing this as a relationship doomed to fail like any other? Had she missed signs? It was possible; after all, this was unknown territory. She thought of Counterfactuals, that had certainly been an unique phenomenon in all the episodes of human interaction she had previously encountered. Curiosity, twenty-five cats worth, got the better of her.

She listened as Sheldon defended her against his Mother's disapproval. A tiny twist in the pit of her stomach twinged at his words "Amy is more similar to me that anyone I've ever met." The truth of the words embedded in her heart, opening a chink there, a vulnerable uncharted route. She'd never questioned her feelings before; she'd never had to. Had she been wrong about Sheldon Cooper's affections?

However, when she asked him to meet her mother, she was in fact proved right. He fled, and the tiny fissure in her heart clamped shut, sealing her from harm.

Romantic connection or not, for the first time in her life she had found herself unable to simply shrug and walk away. He'd very effectively (she expected nothing less from him) disappeared off the matrix. If she wanted him back, then she'd have to hunt him down. She acknowledged the tiny animal instinct in her gut, gathered up her jacket and set off for 2311 N. Los Robles Avenue.


	2. The Prurient Interest Singularity

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 2 : The Prurient Interest Singularity**

Sex, a baffling past time in her opinion. She considered his words on her car journey home. "I find myself wondering if we should actually engage in coitus at least one time in our relationship." A joke, of course, the "Bazinga" excessive and unnecessary, but it had led her on a rather interesting train of thought.

"It's time for me to make love to your daughter's vagina!" Now what would that feel like? In her experience, the vagina itself had little sensation, it was after all the birth canal, it's lack of sensitivity necessary and marked in comparison to the rest of the female genitalia, particularly the cliterous with it's boast of 8,000 sensory nerve endings. She supposed that much of the enjoyment of sexual intercourse in humans was psychosomatic, this had certainly been proven with the pleasure receptor brain research she'd volunteered for, and the orgasms generated had felt rather different from those she produced herself from direct topical stimulation of her genital area. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to engage in this activity with someone else.

Chaucer had been the gateway to her sexual curiosity. It was pointless trying to get anything else past her Mother. The biology books in the library had to remain there, helpful points of reference certainly, but she could never check them out to take home and peruse at her leisure. With Chaucer she found a loophole in that her mother was unable to make head nor tail of the language but in her ignorance assumed that their enduring popularity was down to the wisdom and poetry of the ancient language. In truth, it was pure filth.

Where Amy's mother had vetted and rejected the most innocent of novels, (Wuthering Heights, too racy; Jane Eyre, morally bankrupt) Chaucer slipped through in all its explicit, wanton glory. Her copy of The Canterbury Tales was so often read that it resembled a concertina, falling open naturally at the most lurid passages of The Miller's Tale. She wondered what it would feel like to be kissed on the nether yea, (did people actually do that, surely not?) and had blushed bright red, slamming the dictionary shut in burning embarrassment, when she looked up the word 'queynte' in the public library. It was around about the same time, and no coincidence either, that she discovered the amazing thing her body was capable of doing, later made even more amazing with the buzz of her electric toothbrush. However, correlating this amazing sensation with close contact with another human being confounded her. She just didn't feel it, had never felt it, ever. Until she met him.

He was her first. That is, her first real live person. When she fantasized she thought of Charles Ingalls or Mr Darcy, once she'd even masturbated while thinking about Dudley Do-Right (on reflection though, it was probably the Mountie uniform that did it for her).

"We're like wild animals in heat. It's a wonder neither of us has been hurt!" She thought on his words as she lay supine in bed that evening, before sliding her hand under the elastic banding of her pajama bottoms, surprised to find herself already slippery, stiff and eager. She wondered how it would feel if it were Sheldon's hand touching her instead of her own? Would the sensation be as sweet if each undulation were a surprise, would it be better, more exciting, would Sheldon know what to do instinctively? Do men and women experience the same sensation? Regardless, she was getting greedy now and closing her eyes, she rolled onto her front to push down on her exploring fingers as she circled and teased, letting the pressure build to a blissful crescendo before peaking to spiral away in the euphoria of her orgasm.

Lying prone in the afterglow, her heart-rate decelerating, she deliberated on these questions. What she needed was to ask someone who knew. The opinion of an expert was required. She needed someone with a comprehensive track record and, with a score of 31 sexual partners, that someone was Penny. In conclusion, what she needed was Penny's counsel.

Having secured her place on the perimeter of the social group, her inclusion so far facilitated by association with Sheldon, she kept her eyes peeled for an opening to the inner sanctum. Her ears pricked up when she heard the words "Girl's Night". She grasped the opportunity with both hands, enthusiastic in her declaration. "I'm a girl!"

Though her relationship with Sheldon had developed organically, bonding with Penny would be a whole new ball game. She set out a plan of action to secure herself a place in the girl's affections. She was clearly receptive, as evidenced by her close relationship with Sheldon (she still had had no success in deciphering the nuances of this friendship, much to her annoyance) but her approach needed to be quite different she decided. How do you form a friendship with someone like Penny? It required some thinking.

Why was Penny popular? Because of her beauty.

Did Penny know she was beautiful? She most certainly did.

Do people like to be told they're beautiful? Yes, they do (well, this was a guess, no one had ever told Amy she was beautiful).

Flattery! The solution, she determined, was flattery!

How do you shin up the slippery pole of social rank? Why, with flattery of course!

Penny's response to flattery at the sleepover did not support her hypothesis nor her subsequent research. She'd seen that expression before; it was usually followed by a swift goodbye. So, she grabbed her chance while she had it, asking her questions in a garbled rush, only to be answered by Penny's blank, shocked, blinking expression. However, to her relief, Penny did not show her the door, instead she reached under her bed to scrabble through the detritus that lurked under there. Amy pictured dust-balls, screwed up panties and soiled tissues before deciding not to dwell too long imagining what Penny was seeking out. After a few beats, Penny straightened up with a paperback book in her hand. She blew the dust off the jacket, then rubbed the rest away on her backside before handing it over with the instruction, "Read this Amy, it'll answer all your questions."

Amy had in her hand a tacky romantic novel, the tawdry sort that her mother would have burned. The illustration on front showed a large busted gypsy wench bursting out of a laced corset whilst being swept up in the arms of a long-haired, bare-chested man who glistened with sweat, his abdominal muscles as sharply defined as his biceps, as he pressed his lips to her collar-bone. Really, this was the answer?

Oh boy, was it ever?! And then some! As filthy as Chaucer, but without the need for decryption, the bluntly written exploits of Fabio and Carmella left her breathless, doubling her outlay on toothbrush batteries as she joined them on their journey of rampant rutting, mutual orgasms and bed busting acrobatics. Her mother, she mused, as she sought out the complete box set online (One-day rush? Hell yes!), didn't know what she was missing in her prudish abstinence.

x

Sheldon struggled to exit the shower without his bare legs brushing the toilet. It was no easy feat, these cubicles were not made for someone of his stature and he really didn't want to have to start his routine over again by contaminating himself with toilet germs. As he frisked himself dry (the white towel provided pleasingly sterile as he tore it from it's plastic wrap) he determined to alter his plans. He would disembark at The Grand Canyon tomorrow and book into a hotel for a night, take the tour during the day, before continuing on to Kansas City. He pulled the price tag from his new pajamas before stepping into them, mentally rearranging his itinerary as slipped on and fastened the buttons of the crisp, starchy stiff plaid top.

The guard had already done his rounds and his bunk was turned down ready for him, looking inviting, albeit worryingly narrow. He was relieved to see the safety harness dangling below. It took him back to his cot in Texas and how he would pretend the safety bars were the cage of a circus train, cutting a trail across the country to peddle their show with himself, The Great Sheldondo, as the star attraction.

_"Roll up, roll up, come see the cleverest boy in the Universe. Ask him anything. Anything I tell you! You can bet your bottom dollar he'll have the answer. Roll up, roll up, come on folks, come be amazed by our boy genius The Great Sheldondo!"_

He smiled at the memory in wistful melancholy for those lost days when all had seemed logical and easily explained. Just lately, he'd been rather short of answers.

He checked his phone one last time, focusing on Amy's number, glowing at the top of the screen, his calls recorded in chronological order. It had been good to hear her voice, good to talk about his plans with someone who understood. His thumb wavered over the underscored number, itching to press down, but it was late, past her bedtime; she'd be asleep. Instead he clicked his index finger on the top button and slid the bar on the screen to shut down before tugging the covers back, scrambling in and fastening the harness.

The clickitty-clack of the tracks vibrated through the bunk, resonating within his body, soothing him with their lullaby as he closed his eyes. Trains were good things. Good things happened on trains. He had kissed her on a train. He licked his bottom lip, her taste a vivid spike of a bright memory as he drifted away cradled in the train's sonorous caress.


	3. The Perspicuous Venereal Intuition

******The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 3 : The Perspicuous Venereal Intuition**

**_Things do not change; we change. _**_Henry David Thoreau_

She'd still not quite adjusted to the novel delectation of having an occasional lunch guest in her lab. Admittedly, Sheldon could be dismissive and condescending of her work, however, she found she rather relished his challenges, and particularly enjoyed proving him wrong. Their banter sent a little thrill up her spine that tingled within and tickled in her throat in a pleasurable but entirely unfamiliar sensation. Quite often though, his insight was very useful, today being no exception as he devised a schema for the rather disturbing symptoms she'd encountered in the bar with Penny and Bernadette last night.

After careful analysis of her symptoms they ruled out Hyperthyroidism, premature menopause and hosting an alien parasite, which left the specter of 'sexual arousal' hanging in the air.

Sexual arousal triggered, it would seem, by Penny's ex, Zack. Zack, remembered in her minds-eye as the physical embodiment of her beloved Fabio (minus the mane of hair of course). Yes, unfortunately, the diagnosis very much made sense.

She'd never thought of herself as being someone susceptible and easily led. How very annoying that her mother had been right all along about peer pressure and exposure to unwholesome literature. She was dismayed to find that clearly, she was very easily swayed. Likewise, she saw that disappointment mirrored in Sheldon's mien; or was it something else? Could it be, perchance, that he was jealous?

His denial was vehement but he was obviously flustered and discombobulated as he flounced out in what she could only describe as a jealous huff. Once again, the tiny fissure in her heart opened a slither, rather more cautiously this time. Once again, it sealed shut with his phone call.

"I believe I have the solution for your troublesome concupiscent urges Amy."

Her heart started an involuntary pitter-pat and she had to swallow away the dryness in her throat to answer.

"You do? Go on Sheldon, I'm listening."

"I have arranged a rendezvous on your behalf with Zack Johnson tonight, he's willing to take care of your libidinous cravings."

Her heart ceased its palpitations to drop like a stone into the pit of her stomach in an anticlimactic swoop.

"I see." She weighed up her options in a beat before continuing. "Time and place?"

He insisted on collecting and escorting her, despite her assurance that it was unnecessary. Why he needed to exert such control over her sexual encounter she couldn't fathom, but it seemed he'd taken the task on himself as some kind of unpleasant duty that he had to see through to the bitter end. She wondered if she had hit a nerve when she had accused him of jealousy. Was this all some elaborate bluff? Or perhaps he simply felt it necessary to go to these lengths to prove her wrong? Or was he, in fact, trying to prove something to himself?

Whatever his reasons, it didn't change the fact that something had awakened in her. A rampant, writhing something that had lain dormant for the best part of thirty years and was now pacing circles and clawing at her loins to get free (ironically, in a metaphoric way, the alien parasite hypothesis hadn't been too far off). The cold, hard truth was that she had an itch and, for the first time in her life, someone was willing to scratch. And not just any old someone. No, this was a 6ft 4inch someone with build and features of such aesthetic perfection that the staunch atheist within her questioned that beauty of that ilk could be purely accidental and not the divine work of some blessed deity. This was a someone who set her hormones bubbling and her mind racing eagerly through the spicier passages in the box set of novels she'd just devoured.

She must remember not to call him Fabio, she told herself. She started a mantra in time to her and Sheldon's footfalls as they approached the bar; Zack, not Fabio, Zack, not Fabio, Zack, not Fabio. And then there he was. Zack, not Fabio.

She'd internally rehearsed her introduction and proposal to meticulous detail, and delivered her address flawlessly, leaving no room for misunderstanding, or so she thought. As she stared into his blank, uncomprehending face something shriveled inside her. The sudden realization struck that if she went through with this she would never feel clean again and her skin crawled.

"My gluteus what?" His brows knitted together rendering him a Neanderthal countenance.

She bade him farewell, extending her hand to dispel any hard feelings, but on contact found her genitals slow to catch on as another involuntary "hoo" rent from her as her stomach flipped, obviously the latest neurotransmitter memo hadn't reached her lady parts. She made her way back to Sheldon in some confusion, stepping gingerly, her gait engendered by the pulsation in her groin.

"I'm glad you decided to reject your animal hindbrain and return to the realm of pure intellect." He rewarded her with his approval as they made their way back to her apartment, compounding her confusion further.

None of it made sense. If this man walking beside her now was not the man who should be touching her, who should be making her insides howl like a feral beast, then everything she had ever learned and knew about biology was hokum.

"As am I." She replied as she reached for his hand, enclasping his elegant fingers in her fist.

Did her stomach flip and genitals ping? No.

Did it feel right? Well, it didn't feel wrong!

"What are you doing?" His confusion was genuine.

As was hers. "An experiment. Nope. Nothing. Never mind."

She released him.

X

Sheldon reviewed his sparse belongings. A comb, a razor, a tube of toothpaste, a travel toothbrush with its holder and his phone lay spread before him on the hotel's bedside cabinet. He found a quiet peacefulness in having just exactly what he needed and used everyday, nothing more. To his surprise he found that living deliberately rather suited him. Possessions sapped his energy, took up space in his head and muddled wants with needs. His new clothes lay out ready for the morning, his Grand Canyon Railway T-shirt still in its wrapper, whilst today's dusty attire was being taken care of by the hotel's laundry service.

He'd caught up with Amy already tonight. Today had been a busy one and he'd had lots to tell, from the excitement of the Canyon train to the tour on the coach, and how he'd not braved the helicopter because, as he had told her, it didn't seem quite safe.

The quietness of the room felt a little invasive after the bustle of the day. He sought the origin of his discomfort but no, the bed linen was clean and fresh, his pillows plump and the room secure. Still he couldn't shake the buzz from his ears, or the twitch from his limbs to settle.

He reached for his phone, staring at the last dialed number, his thumb once again itching to press down. Instead he flicked through the menu to his Skype icon to find her name. It was 10pm; she'd be getting ready for bed, if not already in it. Without over-thinking he pressed down.

"Sheldon?" Her greeting was a question in itself as she appeared on the small screen. "Is something wrong?"

"No." He answered honestly with a shrug, leaving her unasked question unanswered.

After a pause, she finally asked it. "Why are you calling?"

He shrugged again. In all honesty, he didn't know why, he just felt the need to see her face but he wasn't about to tell her that so he covered with "I can't sleep."

"Oh." She blinked drowsily at him, behind her he could see her bed headboard and he smiled when he noted her pajamas matched his own. "So, did you want to talk, or play a game maybe?"

"Counterfactuals?" He offered as a suggestion.

"Okay." She deliberated for a moment, her face focused as she formulated a question, her eyes glinting with a smile as she asked. "In a world where Isabella I of Castille and Ferdinand II of Aragon did not capture 15th Century Granada, what is the largest export product in the United Kingdom's Industry?"

"Oh, good one!" He smiled as his mind spiraled through the possibilities, the thought process finally quelling the whine in his head.

"Salt." He answered in confidence before expanding. "Primarily for industrial chemical production."

"Defend." She remained impassive and expectant.

"With the reduction of wealth, the lower dowry of their daughter, Catherine of Aragon, would not have tempted Henry VII to arrange a second marriage after the death of his son Arthur Prince of Wales, thus his second son Henry VIII would not have been ex-communicated by the Pope for his divorce and the formation of the Church of England would have been delayed or would not have occurred. This leaves the United Kingdom a predominantly Catholic country leading to an increased birth rate and the necessity for a sustainable drinking water source reflected by the population explosion which, as an island, would come from desalination of seawater, the byproduct of which is Sodium Chloride."

"Correct." She nodded. "Your turn."

He pondered a while, before he came up with a doozy.

"Amy, in a world where there are no carnivores, what substance has the most value on a global market?"

She shook her head. "Really Sheldon?" Before answering. "Benzophenone."

He felt a little disgruntled at her obvious disparagement and couldn't keep the sulk from his voice. "Defend."

"Benzophenone is a key ingredient in sunscreen, which will become essential due to increased ozone depletion created by the abundance of methane gas omission in mammals who digest vegetation and have you ever questioned why your mind is drawn automatically to anally fixated subjects Sheldon?" She shook her head.

"Incorrect." He announced with a flourish. "The answer was Avobenzone."

"Another sunscreen ingredient and one that comes with endocrine-disrupting potencies thus rendering it less popular, and you didn't answer my question." She crossed her arms as she waited.

"The point is moot Amy, you know full well my views on Freudian psychology, his control group was far too flawed to be given credence!" He jutted his chin in defiance.

"And yet you tick every anally retentive box." She muttered under her breath, it irked him that she always underestimated his hearing. She reached her hand out, her voice at an ordinarily audible pitch as she stated. "Well, it's late, I'm going to turn in. Goodnight"

"Stop!" He yelled in a sudden unaccountable panic.

She stopped, her hand magnified on his phone screen before withdrawing to show her surprised face, her eyes searched his for an answer for his outburst.

"Don't go!" His voice quavered in the scrutiny of her surprise stare. "I don't want to be alone."

"It's late, I've got work tomorrow." She murmured in confusion.

"Go to sleep Amy, but leave your Skype up." He pleaded.

"You're going to watch me sleep?" She questioned incredulously.

"Amy, you've been pressuring me to sleep with you for 3 years, so why the objection now?" He exasperated.

Her face broke into a wry smile, then a small laugh as she nodded. "Okay."

She placed her laptop on the pillow and he watched the world turning sideways on his small phone screen as she lay her head down beside it, he joined her in repose, propping his phone against the lamp on the beside table.

"Goodnight then Sheldon."

"Goodnight Amy."

They locked eyes, staring silently for a long, quiet while, their breathing synchronized and peaceful, blinking heavy-eyed in soporific choreography till sleep took them.


	4. The Left-field Ludus Ludicrosity

******The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 4 : The Left-field Ludus Ludicrosity**

He was flirting with her.

He was.

He definitely, most definitely, was!

He had meet her gaze and held it, his big blues twinkling and his lips curling impishly as if sharing some exclusive in-joke, and then, to cement it all, to dispel any doubt she might be experiencing, he had called her a vixen.

A vixen! A fox no less! She felt the prickling burn of a crimson blush rising, tinting her flesh at the mere memory. And what gossip had he suggested for their meme theory experimentation? Why, he had proposed that they tell the social nexus of the group (they had unanimously agreed on Penny) that they'd had sexual intercourse. This being the second time that he had proposed this, admittedly in jest the first time, and now for the purpose of human experimentation, but regardless, it was intriguing that his thoughts automatically took this route once more. To her mind, there was clearly something subliminal guiding his psyche.

However, she was not naïve enough to allow this development to affect her emotions again. Oh no, if there was one thing she had learned in her short dalliance with Sheldon Cooper, it was that he was a paradoxical mass of contradictions. And she was no fool.

Whilst acknowledging that The Institute of Interdisciplinary Studies' Symposium and its exploration of the impact of scientific research on societal interactions was most likely the catalyst for her own thought process in proposing this experiment, she found it perplexing that they'd spent an entire weekend there together without the merest hint of any carnal interest emanating from him, and suddenly now, out of the blue, he was making eyes at her. Once again, his cognitive functioning confounded her.

"You're a vixen, Amy Farrah Fowler!" She repeated his words facing the mirror, allowing her lips to form a little growl at her reflection as she flicked her hair back from her face. And she was! She could feel the foxiness in her wiggle as she sashayed hand on hip to her laptop, opening a blank document to title it;

_Memetic Theory, Epidemiology and Algebraic Gossip; a competing study of information transfer as a unit of culture. _

She saved it and sat formulating her opening hypothesis, but there was something in the way. Some obstacle obstinately blocking her thoughts that, annoyingly, just wouldn't shift out of the way no matter how hard she tried to concentrate round it.

She capitulated, and opened another blank document, appeasing her stubborn brain as she titled it;

_Emotional Development Hindered by Prodigious Intelligence Quotient; a journey from Ludos via Eros to Pragma._

She read over her title with resignation, and wryly considered that she had been premature in congratulating herself for her savviness. There before her was the written evidence that, despite having already imperiled herself twice, to be rebutted and crushed both times, hope supercedes experience; particularly, it would seem, in matters of the heart.

Eros, I mean really, who was she kidding? The idea of Sheldon engaging in any erotic activity was preposterous. But then, before today, the idea of Sheldon flirting was equally ridiculous, but he had. He had! She was absolutely justified in her use of the term Ludos. He had called her a vixen for goodness sake! There'd been a twinkle in his eye.

He'd definitely twinkled.

Most definitely!

Her eyes traveled to the last word, Pragma, and the truth that, as her fingers had flittered habitually over the keyboard to unconsciously find those six telltale letters, there, in fact, was the answer to what truly lay in her heart. What she had known instinctively from the first moment she had clapped eyes on him, heard his dulcet cadence of voice and imbibed his rousing perfume of pheromones.

Pragma; enduring love. Immutable, irreplaceable, irreducible love.

It seemed fissures of the heart, if pierced enough times, became weak, vulnerable and liable to split. She took a moment as the truth impressed, then inhaled a deep breath and tabbed to insert her first heading.

**Ludos:** The keyboard click-clacked in quick succession as she typed her observations under the title. There was no impediment or hesitation in finding these words. They spilled from her fingers onto the page in lucid ease as she described his demeanor, his teasing crooked smile and the flash of his eyes; his big beautiful eyes, like limpid, deep blue pools. Oh God, she had it bad. Get a grip Fowler, a man flutters his lashes at you and you turn to mush, pathetic! She wound it up before it became nonsensical.

She typed, bolded and underlined the next heading; **Eros**.

An hour later, she sat in impotent frustration, the section as infuriatingly blank as her mind. It was impossible to predict what aberrant apparition Sheldon's sexuality would take. She was stumped.

With nothing forthcoming on the subject, finally she surrendered. Saving and shutting down the document she returned to their meme experiment and found, to her relief, that the words now jostled to rush out in a rapid flow as she expounded their conjecture on the tantalizing piece of gossip's rapid peregrinations through their social group in opposition to the predicted plodding progress of their Herb Garden tale.

X

Lying in his bunk he pondered on the odd malaise that seemed to permeate his bones. Even the train's coddling thrum and sway couldn't settle him. He thought back to this morning, to the sweeping serenity her sleeping form had awakened in him when he opened his eyes. How the pattern of her slight, grunting snores had lulled him into a calm, tranquil mindset, only to be jolted suddenly from this reverie by the shrill, jarring ring of her bedside alarm. Then it had all been bluster and rush. Amy had a tight morning schedule, timed to the minute, and he too had to wash, dress, check out of the hotel, collect his clean laundry and make his way to the train station for the next leg of his adventure.

They had already spoken this evening, his calls beginning to comfortably meld into a reassuring pattern and sequence, same time, same duration, but somehow the subject of their shared sleeping experience had been skirted. She'd listened brightly as he'd imparted today's experiences, asking suitable questions and making all the right noises in the right places, but their 'sleepover' lurked like an elephant in the room, neither of them willing to broach it. It was making him twitchy; he reached for his phone in agitation.

'Why didn't you mention 'last night' when we spoke?" He accused as her sleepy face appeared on his phone.

"And hello to you too Sheldon!" She rebuked, rubbing her eyes before searching for her glasses on her bedside table, her face looming close to her laptop screen. He could see up her nose.

He watched her zoom out and arrange her glasses then, once he had her full attention, asked. "Well?"

She shrugged. "Why didn't you?"

"Stop stalling, I asked first." He was not prepared to tolerate any of her question dodging tactics tonight.

He watched her eyes dart as she considered her answer, her features became still as she reached a conclusion and she faced him soberly.

"Because I have to watch what I say with you Sheldon. Because you took off and left without even the courtesy of a goodbye. Because you remain a flight risk. Because you lead and I follow." She blinked, her expression somber, pausing for a beat before she questioned. "Have you any idea how that feels?"

Her answer took him aback. "I didn't know you felt like that." He excused.

"Now you do!" She stated, her voice impassive but he did not miss the glassy shine behind her glasses.

"I'm sorry Amy." And he meant it. A cold chill slithered in his chest as he considered her words.

'Sheldon, I don't want anything from you that you're not prepared to give, but I don't understand why you refuse to try. Is it pride? Fear? Please tell me." She swallowed her emotion back, taking a staggering breath, breathing out slowly as she waited.

Somehow, at this late hour, swaddled in the safety of his train bunk, being at this distance, he found the courage to be honest.

"Amy, I fear that I will lose myself and all that I am. I fear the change." He felt suddenly lighter with his confession.

She nodded. "I suspected so." She gave him a small smile that didn't touch the sadness in her eyes.

"Will you help me?" The sentence blurted out without consideration, came from somewhere buried deep within him, the honesty of its sentiment making him start.

"Okay." She had a glimmer of a different sort now, a hopeful curiosity as she asked. "How do you propose we proceed?"

He was stymied. He had no proposition. He tried again to find the secret place within, the place that seemed to have the answers, but it appeared to have fled its location in startled alarm, he'd just felt the first shackles of rising panic when, all of a sudden, the answer popped into his head in a relieved flash of brilliance.

"My Elven magic-user leads your half-orc warier to a secluded area where I attempt to remove your leather armor." He met her gaze boldly.

Her eyes widened in surprise, her mouth dropping agape to form a little O before she took the bait and answered.

"It comes off." There was a short pause as she gathered her thoughts. "I kiss you on the lips Sheldon, and I remove your armor."

"I kiss you back Amy, and I erotically caress your," he paused, meeting her eyes, locking her there as he finished his sentence, "breasts."

"Oh!" Her exclamation was a mix of surprise and a croaky rasp of desire. "I reach round to grab your buttocks Sheldon. I squeeze you and pull you close to my naked body."

He swallowed as his heart started to hammer; a swirling sensation writhed in his belly as he gasped. "I push against you Amy. My hardness rubs against your heat and I grasp your buttocks to guide your movement as I grind against you."

She swallowed now, her eyes intense as her voice dropped in tone. "I push back against you and your hardness slides against my wetness, teasing my own stiff, hungry centre, till I can't bear it and I reach for your hand, positioning it," she stopped suddenly, her face a mask of desperate need before she stated, "I need to go to the bathroom."

"No." Somehow, despite the throbbing ache in his groin he controlled his voice as he commanded. "Do what you need to do here."

She looked at him flustered as she blinked in confusion, her voice quavering as she declared. "I can't, not with you watching."

"Turn the screen away." He allowed. "But I want to hear you."

"You too then." She challenged defiantly.

It only seemed fair. "Fine." He agreed, his breathing hitched as his heart accelerated its pace.

He turned his phone away, reaching for the pocket pack of tissues on his beside shelf before sliding his hand down to clasp his arousal beneath the banding of his pajamas. He could hear her muffled exasperations, quiet murmurs and small groans that encouraged him as she obliged his request. He proceeded, picturing her as he stroked in quick, precise movements. It had been a while since he had needed to purge himself and he climaxed quickly, lost in the sounds of Amy's own orgasm, her gasped "oh" occurring shortly before his own as he caught his expulsion in the tissue.

He caught his breath, lying wrung-out in his bunk as his biological rhythms returned to normal, before screwing the tissue up in his fist, and disembarking to walk the two steps to toss it into the lavatory, flushing and then washing his hands.

Once safely back under the covers it seemed safe to turn his phone screen back round. He found her waiting, reclined in her bed, her features flushed and her expression expectant. He was at a loss, what was the protocol in situations such as this? To his relief, she spoke first.

"Well, I guess we'll both sleep well tonight." She hid her embarrassment less well than she thought, her skin pinkening and her laugh unusually shy and awkward.

"Well Amy, you certainly don't require any extra stimulus to promote deeper sleep." He responded factually. "Do you know you snore?"


	5. The Temeritous Seduction Audacity

******The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 5 : The Temeritous Seduction Audacity**

One, two, cha-cha-cha, one, two, cha-cha-cha, a pulsing, pumping polyrhythm fading now, repealing to be trod down, quashed and overridden by the uniform swishing beat of an army marching in her ears, one-two, left-right, one-two, left-right, chug-chug, chug-chug, chug-chug, chug-chug.

Lips. Cranberry Lips. Penny's lips. Soft, the taste of waxy lipstick and alcohol tinted breath. Graceful hands in hers, bodies aligned, moving as one, a ballet of pressed flesh and electric current generated by brushing touches of skin and torso passing into her being. More lips. Different lips, soft, yielding. A taste of something unknown, a bewitching chemical mix, an elixir that spoke to her loins, that set in motion a swirling, twisting whirl only to leave her befuddled in reeling confusion as a hot wave of nausea trounced, bubbling up to the surface, burning her throat with an acrid smack of caustic retribution.

Pattering, small sticky hands on her face and a shrieking that snapped her eyes open, ripping her from her phantasmagoria as she struggled to focus, her brain slowly knitting the blurry visuals before her into sense.

She lay on her side, her face hot and itchy against a towel, inches from the base of her toilet as her heart beat its gravelly tempo in her ears. Ricky's inquisitive monkey face peered down at close range as he nestled in the crook of her neck, his inquisitive tiny fingers tangling her hair as he groomed. She made to sit, her skull throbbing as she struggled upright, and Ricky ascended, chattering, to perch on the safe vantage point of the cistern to continue his observation of her.

She had some questions.

Sheldon had some answers.

Smug, in his self-congratulatory, 'I told you so' attitude, he relayed the events of the previous evening over her Skype screen. He spoke of the kiss in a matter of fact way, shuffled in with the other events of the night with no great importance attributed to it, just innocuously muddled in with his overall tone of general condescension. She jumped enthusiastically at his offer to reboot. Relieved that her abhorrent behavior hadn't scared him away and determined to proceed with more caution from here on in.

Grateful for her shot at redemption, she vowed to do better. She hadn't lost sight of the extraordinary honor of Sheldon's especial attention. To be the exception of someone whose disapproval was standard and universally feared was beyond flattering. It made her special and she felt it acutely. Special, as opposed to different, odd, weird, that was indeed an anomaly; a refreshing and welcome one.

However, it was a juggling act, by taking his side against her beloved bestie Penny when they argued over an abandoned chair, she almost jeopardized the friendship she had been cultivating with her. So, for insurance, she decided to get to know Leonard better. Perhaps Leonard was the key to success with Sheldon after all. He clearly had a knack for handling him, and perhaps with better acquaintance, this knowledge could be imparted.

The wedding 'date' with Leonard turned out to be an intricate operation fraught with snares. With her foxy femme fatale status now flagged, she really didn't want to give the poor, lonely guy false hope, especially with his girlfriend miles away in India. So, she trod carefully with his heart but, though she was careful not to toy with his emotions, Leonard was helplessly enslaved by the lure of her feminine charms. Luckily, Penny stepped in and offered to break it to him, reporting back to reassure her that he'd taken the bad news of her romantic disinterest like a trooper, no harm done. He was a brave little guy.

Even with the minor hiccup of Leonard falling madly in love with her, overall, she congratulated herself on the progress she was making. Having successfully infiltrated this social group, she was making comfortable progress in establishing herself a unique niche within it. Then, suddenly, without warning, she was struck a shattering, wounding blow.

The news that Penny and Bernadette had excluded her from bridesmaids dress shopping knocked her for six, sent her crawling despondently to dig down in her apartment and lick her wounds. Once again, she had failed. She had misinterpreted, got it wrong. Worst of all, she had not seen it coming; not at all.

Over the years, she had learned to pick up certain signs. As a result, her previous rejections had never really come as a complete shock. Now, she ran over and over events in her head, but just could not ascertain where things had gone awry. Dejected and thoroughly shamed she noted Sheldon's attempts to communicate, but no longer trusted her instincts. She had obviously messed up big time with Penny and Bernadette, who was to say she wouldn't repeat her mistakes with him. He was far too important to get wrong so she remained incommunicado, hidden away in self-exile; till he turned up at her door.

The beauty of him struck her as he stood in concern in her apartment. A hero, with a brown windcheater for shining armor, galloping in at her hour of need. A strange knowledge pervaded her being; she felt it, he must feel it too; surely he must. Some force had drawn him here to seek her out. She found herself suddenly overwhelmed by the need for him to touch her, to hold and comfort her and make things right. To do more, to make love to her.

Everything was hopeless anyway; she'd lost it all, messed up again. Why not be honest? So she threw caution to the wind and spoke her mind, girding her loins as the greater percentage of her readied for him to flee, but he didn't run.

He negotiated.

X

Sheldon sat in silent contemplation, the view from the carriage window blurring its way from Kansas to Chicago and making little impact on his thoughts.

Instead he was struck by the train's sense of thrusting life, it's intent and purposive turning which conveyed itself so subtly into his body. How his body counterbalanced the trains leaning and veering, content to be guided, to be carried onward to a point of irrevocable, inevitable change. Chicago beckoned, offering up 360 degrees of variety and partings of the ways. He ran through the possibilities, finding the choices excited, rather than frightened him. Tonight he would check into a hotel, make his decision carefully; he would seek Amy's advice.

The next morning found him aboard a Washington bound train as he compiled his itinerary. The White House, National Air and Space Museum and The Smithsonian National Zoo, as Amy had knowledgeably informed him, they had pandas, which were almost, but not quite, as good as koalas. He allotted a day for each in his diary before logging online to search for a hotel. Politics, Science and Nature, all encompassed in three days of metaphysical contemplation; what could be better?

Throughout his life, politics had never ceased to baffle him, the answer was simple, if people just did what they said they were going to do then society would have no problems, he found it infuriating. The Air and Space Museum, though interesting, taught him nothing new. However, he was surprised to find inspiration on his last day, for him, the zoo posed more questions than answers.

He reflected on the family group of gorillas, the silverback with his dominant female contentedly engaged in mutual grooming, but it was the lone male who caught his attention, sat apart in lonesome melancholy, an outsider serving no purpose to the group, soon, no doubt to be ejected to make his own way in some other zoo apart from the band he had come to depend on.

Then, the pandas. Rare, precious beasts thrust together, when in the wild they were solitary. There to breed and to provide a spectacle before they faded from existence entirely. He considered their reluctance to mate, he didn't blame them, who wants to be forced, and yet the more he watched, the more he became angry. They wrestled and frolicked together, giddy in each others company, whilst their artificially inseminated cub looked down from the trees at her parents antics. If he were one for anthropomorphism, he'd go so far to say they loved each other! So why the reluctance? Why the need for science to intervene to save their species? Stupid, stubborn pandas.

"I felt like throwing my shoe at a panda today. Is that normal?" He questioned after dinner.

Amy's shoulders bobbed up in a shrug. "Well, I had an urge to kick an old lady's dog on the way to work this morning, so I'm going to go with yes."

"Why would you do that?" He exclaimed in shock.

"I didn't. That's the point. We all get these thoughts Sheldon. We don't act on them. They happen. They're normal. You think them. You let them go. You carry on." She shrugged again.

"Everyone gets these thoughts?" He questioned.

"Of course. Did you think it was just you?" She gave a small laugh. "That makes some sense."

"I need to go now." He reached forward to close his Skype his brows knitted in contemplation.

"See you tonight!" It was not a question, it was a statement as she raised her eyebrows in a knowing way before she disappeared from his screen.

X

Her Skype chimed later than on the previous nights. She'd almost given up on him and had reconciled herself to a night alone in her bed. Disappointingly, there'd been no repeat of the Dungeon's and Dragon's incident, but she'd rather got used to waking up to his curious blue eyes in the morning, he always woke before her.

"Unbutton your pajama top." He offered no salutation and his face was set in determination.

"Sorry, what?" She flustered, pushing her glasses back on her nose.

"Unbutton your pajama top!" His eyes flashed and he waited a few beats. "Don't make me repeat myself Amy!" His voice was chillingly calm.

"Okay." She reached for the buttons, her hands tremoring with excitement as she fumbled on the top one and unfastened, lowering to repeat till her top gaped open from her neck to navel. He watched patiently as she stumbled over the fiddly buttons, she half expected him to bark orders at her, to insist she got a move on, but his silence was just as unnerving.

"Open your top." He instructed in the same cool tone.

She obeyed, pulling the material back to reveal her breasts, the chilly night air already stiffening her nipples. She was pleased to see his eyes widen as he focused and felt a thrill start to pulse deep within her.

"Your hands are my hands." He informed her, bringing his eyes back to meet hers. "Do as I instruct you."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, her voice felt no larger than a squeak in her throat.

"Touch your breasts."

"Cup them."

"Squeeze now."

"Rub your thumbs over your nipples."

His eyes darkened as she proceeded and he swallowed before licking his lower lip as he questioned. "How does that feel?"

"Just amazing!" She gasped.

"No, describe it, tell me what your breasts feel like Amy." He had a sudden look of desperation to him. "Keep touching them!"

"Oh, okay." She smiled at the misunderstanding. "They're soft, heavy, pliable, warm. My nipples are stiff, sensitive, when I touch them they send little currents to my loins, to stiffen me there too."

He inhaled, a rasping stagger, the control slipping from his voice. "Show me!"

She needed a moment. They stared in silence whilst she gathered her courage, finally moving to stand from her bed at his plea. "Please Amy, show me!"

She slipped her pajama bottoms down and away, sliding the pajama top off at the same time to fold and place them on the bedside table. She took a deep steadying breath and returned to the scrutiny of the screen and Sheldon's expectant gaze, moving into the middle of the bed so he could see her.

Once again there was a long silence as they locked eyes. She watched as he gathered his thoughts, his voice once again adopting an air of control as he instructed.

"Touch yourself. Remember, your hands are my hands."

Obliging him, she slipped her hand between her thighs, her fingers sliding to part and press on the stiff, sweet nub and she rubbed in undulating little figure-eight strokes as she gazed at his rapt, beautific face.

"You too." She gave her own instruction, her voice catching as shivers of exquisite pleasure traversed her body.

A slight tremor started in his face and she smiled as he surrendered to her request, a telltale jigging of his head and shoulders on the screen as he proceeded.

He made no attempt to control his voice now, it came strained and guttural as he ordered. "Tell me how it feels Amy."

"Warm. Wet. Stiff. Slippery. And sweet. Oh, so sweet oh, oh, oh, oh my!" And she was taken, no longer coherent as she turned to jelly. Wave after sweet wave, flooding her body and sending her spiraling away as her bones melted.

She opened her eyes to his distorted, screwed up grimace as he followed her with a fractured gaspy cry and a shuddering that shook on her laptop screen like some crummy 60's Star Trek effect.

She laughed. She couldn't help it.

"Boldly go Sheldon." She encouraged. "Boldly go!"


	6. The Pretermitted Eros Bypass

******The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 6 : The Pretermitted Eros Bypass**

Was she wasting her time?

She'd been wrong so many times now she wasn't sure she knew which way was up anymore.

Penny and Bernadette seemed pretty convinced, and were pretty convincing.

Damn it, she had nothing to lose. Sheldon had happily pimped her out to Zack after all, and even when she'd offered herself to him on a plate had shown no interest. The days of the consoling clowder of 25 cats certainly seemed a long time ago. Perhaps her friends were right, now was the time to accept it for was it is and stop kidding herself. She had room in her life for Sheldon and a boyfriend, and, after all, you can't really risk something you don't actually have.

Besides, she was starting to recognize signs that her interest in Sheldon was developing into an unhealthy limerence, a romantic obsession on her part that was showing little sign of ever being returned. So in truth, she was doing them both a favor.

She set her mind and reached for her phone scrolling to find Stuart's text. Pressing reply she tapped in:

_Hi Stuart. Coffee would be acceptable and welcome. I'm free tomorrow night. Hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience. Sincerely, Amy Farrah Fowler._

And he was nice, Stuart. He was self-effacing and funny, sweet and intelligent. And he liked her, he really did. They made another date.

But, he was not Sheldon.

Coming up the cinema row, stumbling, disturbing people, bumping knees and excusing himself, that was Sheldon. Again, she found herself surprised not to be surprised by his presence there in the darkened cinema as he made his clumsy way past her and Stuart to take up the adjacent seat, whereby he began negotiations. She felt the empowerment of her position, and gleefully utilized her strategic strength to draw the truth from him, to drag the words from his mouth, finally gasped in defeat and exasperation.

"Amy, will you be my girlfriend."

And she wanted to squeal, to turn cartwheels, to punch the air, but she kept it in, her emotions tethered and in check, her "yes" quiet and dignified.

To her chagrin, it was only after Sheldon had left that she considered poor Stuart, sat there cuckolded in embarrassed silence, his heart another casualty, defenseless against the alluring siren call of her vampish wiles. Poor, poor Stuart; another vixen victim.

She filed her electronic copy of their Relationship Agreement along with her earlier Emotional Development exploratory document. Spelled out in its 31 pages of rights and responsibilities, the agreement constituted, more or less, an ersatz marriage, their duties to each other stated in black and white, comprehensive to the point of absurdity but skipping one vital area.

Perplexingly, they seemed to have skipped the Eros stage of their relationship, cementing themselves in writing, and notarized stamp, to the third and final stage in the standard romantic paradigm; Pragma.

Opening up the older document she expanded on the third and final section, **Pragma**, documenting the key points of the Relationship Agreement within, the blankness of the Eros section above it no less annoying than when she had sat and stared at it in defeated contemplation the time before. Its incompletion irked her too much to simply let it be and shut down. The document was unbalanced, wrong; leaving it would be like skipping to the end of Pride & Prejudice and missing all the juicy banter betwixt Elizabeth and Darcy.

So she moved her mouse up to hover below the heading **Eros**, hitting return to type on a new fresh line below it;

**Five Year Plan: Shared Intimacy leading to Cohabitation, Marriage and Reproduction.**

Overview: Plan of action to precipitate an intimate sexual bond to stimulate the desire to meet and achieve conventional social standards in Western culture: - romantic attachment leading to sexual relations, cohabitation, engagement, marriage and childbearing.

Goal Markers to facilitate sexual intimacy:

Stage Key: Accepted: 1 / Returned: 2 / Initiated: 3

Preliminary: 

Hand Holding: Stage 1 / 2 / 3

Hugging: Stage 1 / 2 / 3

Closed Mouth Kiss: Stage 1 / 2 / 3

First Base:

French Kissing: Stage 1 / 2 / 3

Second Base: 

Manual stimulation of breasts over clothing: Stage 3 only

Manual stimulation of breasts under clothing: Stage 3 only

Oral stimulation of breasts: Stage 3 only

Manual stimulation of genitals over clothing: Stage 1 / 2 / 3

Manual stimulation of genitals under clothing: Stage 1 / 2 / 3

Third Base:

Oral stimulation of genitals: Stage 1 / 2 / 3

Home run: 

Sexual Intercourse: Stage 2 / 3

Key Markers:

Conventional romantic gifts (jewelry, flowers, chocolates etc.): Estimated years 1 - 3

Declaration of affection: Estimated years 2 - 3

Casual cohabitation: Estimated years 3 - 4

Permanent cohabitation: Estimated years 4 - 5

Engagement: Estimated years 4 - 5

Marriage: Estimated years 5

Child-bearing: Estimated years 5+

Hypothesis: Contrasexual anima/animus syzygy recapitulated in the unconscious mind will bind and implant psychic relatedness. The interconnection and interaction formed via sexual relations will pave a pathway to conventional pair bonding and reproduction in the repressed psyche of a subject with arrested social development juxtaposed in direct relation to high-level intelligence quotient.

She set up a schema line chart below, dotting her predictive goals at realistic intervals along the 5 year time line, using the Preliminary Stage 1 Closed Mouth Kiss and Stage 1 and 2 Hugging as a barometer, then sat back to admire her work.

The Neuroscientist in her was quietly confident, they had three progress markers detailed already and were already a third of the way through the Preliminary Stage. Simultaneously, not so quietly, her besotted girly heart was beating out a celebratory, pumping polka of excitement and hope, it's barriers irrevocably broken to split wide open now, all shields lowered Dr Spock.

X

Sheldon's Floridian jaunt to Epcot had been rather an anticlimax. The Test Track ride felt a little too much like Howard's driving simulator to be much fun (he found he much preferred the old version. Why did they have to change things? Very annoying!), however, at least the comforting nostalgia of Spaceship Earth hadn't been bastardized and 'improved', and it was the great redeemer of his day.

Double-backing to Jacksonville, he watched the previously viewed scenery flash by in reverse order, before booking a sleeper to travel to his mother's for a few days via New Orleans; this time, he was sure to give her plenty of notice of his impending visit. There was no way he was risking a repeat of last time, it seems some things, once seen, can never be unseen, and that man's thrusting backside had scorched a retinal image that had permanently scarred his brain. Sometimes an eidetic memory was a curse.

The prevening had been spent in the Sightseer Lounge Car, his annoyance at being accosted by an elderly gentleman (who at first had been hell-bent on bragging about his grand-children till thankfully Sheldon's lack of interest finally filtered into his understanding) slipped away as they fell into a fascinating discussion about the historic route and carriage. He'd taken a rather submissive stance, finding it relaxing just to sit back and listen whilst the old man, Earl his name was, imparted information as the landscape, dusky and shadowed now, sped past the window. A native Texan, Earl's voice dripped with Southern cadence, his lilting soliloquy tripping from his lips in a hypnotic patter, offering up succor like the oft-told, familiar lullabies of his childhood.

It was in an extension of this serene, happy and playful mood that he found himself facing Amy's image on his phone screen that night. He was not yet tucked into his bunk and feeling rather skittish.

"Have you been drinking coffee?" Amy enquired, noting his hyper mood.

"Of course not. Is it really so unusual for me to be in a good mood?" He shook his head, she was starting to 'harsh his buzz'.

Dodging the question, and in an effort to distract, she asked. "Did you want to play a game?"

Rather charitably, he let it go to answer. "How about Simon Says?"

She considered briefly before stipulating. "Fine, but keep it fair, no physics questions."

"Fine, no biology either then." He demanded.

"Agreed. How about chemistry?" She offered.

"Acceptable. I'll go first." He stopped for a few beats to formulate his question, before asking.

"Simon Says, with the drug Thalidomide, what measures would have prevented the horrific side effects?"

She tilted her head, her expression wry. "A trick question Sheldon? Playing dirty huh, tsk, tsk?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Okay, tragically, the answer is none. The PH balance in the body causes racemizing so both enentiomers are formed in roughly equal mix in the blood."

Pleased with herself, a little glint formed in her eye as she asked.

"Okay then, in a similar vein, no pun intended, my question is which Optical Isomer was tetragenic?"

"The S enantiomer!" Sheldon's eyes flashed and lips curled in smug pleasure as he answered correctly.

"Aha! I didn't say Simon Says." She laughed triumphantly as the smirk fell instantly from his face.

"Penalty!" She deliberated, tapping her fingers on her beside table before ordering. "Take off your pajama top!"

"What?" He scowled at her petulantly.

"Don't be shy, it's nothing I haven't seen before." She wiggled her eyebrows at him, unable to keep the self-satisfaction from her voice.

"Fine!" He huffed as he unfastened the buttons and shirked his pajama top off sulkily.

When done he faced the screen glowering, his good mood now a memory. "Okay smarty-pants, Simon says which…"

"Nuh uh!" She interrupted him, shaking her head. "I won, I get another question."

"Dagnamit!" He crossed his arms over his bare chest. "Go on, ask your stupid question!" His bottom lip jutted as he glowered at her from her laptop screen.

"Simon Says, in food production, which molecule has a dissymmetric physiological property that is directly opposite?" She gave him an easy one, hoping to divert a tantrum.

"Aspartame, ( S )-carvone is bitter and ( R )-carvone sweet and that's cheating Amy, chirality has a huge impact on biological matters." He shook his head in disgust. "Now who's playing dirty? I expected better from you."

"So you're telling me physicists have no interest in symmetry matters then?" She countered sarcastically. "I could have easily made this argument with your first question Sheldon."

She shook her head back at him, feeling a little mischief rising as she proposed.

"Fine, lets move on to Geology then." She lowered the tone of her voice and husked "And get dirty in another connotation."

His eyebrows shot up suddenly as he squeaked. "Not Geology!"

"Oh, have I hit a nerve Sheldon?" Her smile wicked as her eyes flashed suggestively.

"Not at all Amy." He floundered. "It's just that I find the subject banal."

What had Leonard told Amy? That drunken night he'd spent poring over that wretched book filled him with shame and disgust. How did she know about it? He wondered how on earth someone of his brilliance had managed to get himself wrapped up with such an asinine bunch of gossips and tattle-tales?

"Really?" Amy voiced her disbelief, continuing to question in bedevilment.

"Simon Says, which of these terms are not connected to Geology; Aureole. Cleavage. Intrusion. Kink. Core. Vulva?" She pronounced the last word slowly, allowing her tongue to roll the vowels sensually.

Sheldon spluttered as he argued. "Firstly, it's my turn to ask the question, and secondly, Amy, I'm not even playing anymore."

She continued. "Delta. Fold. Cross-bedding. Degradation. Extension. Labia." Again, she let the last word slip from her lips in an exaggerated tease.

"Amy, you're wasting your time, I'm not playing." But the struggle in his voice was glaringly apparent now.

Ruthless in her pursuit, she pushed further "Aftershock. Buckling. Erection. Clitoris. Ejaculation. Climax."

Breathless, she panted the final words; exultant in her victory which was now clearly flagged by the tenting in his lap.

He stared wild-eyed for a long moment, outraged by the effrontery of her forwardness, whilst simultaneously fighting an inner demon that was demanding out, seemingly via the front of his pajamas, his guts twisting and writhing in a lusty slither as he gulped audibly, regaining the measure of his voice, before he reined back control.

"Amy, take your pajamas off!" He ordered.

"You didn't say 'Simon Says'." She provoked, watching in wicked joy as his cheek started to tic in frustration.

"Simon can go to hell!" He nearly lost it, eyes bulging in vexation. "Amy, 'Sheldon Says' take your pajamas off!"

"I will if you will." She tormented.

He was lost for words, his perturbed face glaring, burning through the pixels on her screen.

"Come on, it's nothing I haven't seen before now, is it Sheldon?" She goaded in thorough delight.

"Fine!" His voice was suddenly ice cold as he stood, his head lost above the phone's camera as his pale torso homed into view, he pushed his thumbs into the elastic banding of his pajama bottoms, suddenly thrusting downward to reveal what he was not so secretly concealing there.

It was her turn to be lost for words. That actually was something she had never seen before.

His face returned to view as he pulled his bottoms off and away, sitting naked now on his bunk, his face expectant, his voice dripping control as he ordered. "Your turn now Dr Fowler."

She struggled out of her pajamas, to sit dazed and naked, unable to tear her eyes away from the glorious, unexpected view on her laptop.

"Well, in keeping with the subject of chirality, 'Sheldon Says' mirror me!" And he slid his hand down to grasp his phallus, never taking his eyes from hers as he began to stroke up and down it's length.

She copied his actions, gasping as her hand slid into her slick heat to find her flesh swollen, pulsing and tender.

Sheldon's lips curled in wicked suggestion. "Want to race?"

Inhaling raggedly, almost lost already in the sweet sensation, she felt her odds were good.

"First to the finish?" She challenged, her voice a lusty rasp.

"You're on!" His face was set in rigid determination as she counted down.

"On your marks. Get set. Go!"

And they were off!


	7. The Tiara Syndrome Atonement

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 7 : The Tiara Syndrome Atonement**

Had she really expected the Relationship Agreement to make a difference? Foolishly, naively, she had. Now, listening to him wittering on about his twitter feed when he should be congratulating her, making a fuss about her achievement, (she had made the front cover of Neuron for goodness sake) she found she couldn't tolerate his egotism a minute longer. She excused herself to the bathroom.

Hot tears prickled as she faced the mirror. Damn him! Damn the little prize boy, nothing but a spoilt baby who had been taught a few tricks, who existed by excelling, by always knowing that bit more than everyone else and yet understanding nothing. Well, she determined as she made her way back to the table, he had some home truths coming.

And she had expected better from Penny too, tricking her into meeting him. He had nothing to say that she wanted to hear. And he'd bought jewelry, like that just made it all better, like his inconsideration and narcissism would be washed away by some sparkly bauble.

It was a tiara.

She was a princess. His princess. His.

Those ingenious, all-seeing eyes had looked right into her soul, and for the first time in her life she felt known. Known and accepted. Known and loved. Belonged and belonging.

The truth the tiara told cleansed his sins in a euphoric rush and she was overcome with the desire to embrace him, to kiss his sweet mouth and, once done, she held him in a blind ecstasy of motionless, silent passion, heart beating against heart.

She was his.

X

Sheldon was woken from his dreams by the persistent and urgent knocks of the train guard. He blinked, focusing on Amy's sleeping face on his phone screen, inert on the narrow bedside shelf. He scrambled up, reaching to switch it off, no point disturbing her, and stumbled to the door his heart hammering fit to burst. Poking his head out, he found the guard had moved further on to rap sharply on the other doors in the corridor, turning at the sound of the squeaking hinge to inform him.

"Bomb scare Sir, you need to evacuate immediately, leave your belongings and follow the signs to the emergency exit."

Moving further still, he repeated this instruction to the alarmed inhabitants of the next sleeper cabin, pointing out the direction of the emergency exit. Sheldon shook the last vestiges of sleep from his brain to follow the little signs in a trancelike state, disembarking into the cold desert air to follow the bobbing glimmers of flashlight that glinted in the dark distance marking the already assembled passengers.

Police sirens sounded in the blackness, echoing round the rocky terrain, whooping louder as they neared. Their approaching headlights illuminated the carriages, casting long sinister shadows, clawing towards him like some menacing dark demon along the rugged floor, as dust motes danced a macabre reel in the beams. A team of police officers, their black uniforms invisible in the night, tumbled out, moving like jerking marionettes, the light reflecting from the skeletons of fluorescent banding on their jackets as they unloaded their yowling sniffer dogs in a noisy cacophony that bounced off the craggy mountains.

"You okay son?" He felt a kindly hand on his back and turned to see Earl's friendly, concerned face.

He was not okay.

Sheldon nodded his lie, tried to smile.

The cold night air cut through his pajamas, the chill scaling his legs from his bare feet up to filter through his body, settling in his chest, the blackness of the night seeping in to take hold till he was afraid to move, rooted in terror, helpless as his fears were realized before his very eyes. Every emergency he'd ever prepared for amalgamated into this one moment, finally arrived to find him lacking and helpless, barefoot and shivering with no plan of action but to put his faith in the officers he saw intermittently as they moved from compartment to compartment in the lit train carriages.

Routine gave him identity, a protective ecto-skeleton. Beyond routine was chaos and nightmarish scenarios such as this. He was lost, both metaphysically and geographically, not even vaguely aware where he was bar the next stop was San Antonio, and tomorrow his brother, George Jnr, who was collecting him at Houston, would be angry at the delay.

The police officers gave the all clear at dawn. A hoax it seemed. Hilarious.

He didn't bother to fold his bunk back but sat upright upon it, still shaking, his ague now disconnected from the chill air, scared to change anything, scared to jinx it, holding stock still, frozen motionless to stop the earth spinning off its axis, to avert catastrophe. He tried to distract himself, his mind spooling to run through the train map, stopping at each station, a virtual trip of the USA, counting for breaths in, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, counting for breathes out, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,10, 11 but still the railing rails invaded, threatened with each clickitty clack, their portentous chant drowning out all else; _you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die_…

He needed to be safe. He needed to be home.

X

Why hadn't he called her?

The first anomaly had been waking to a blank laptop screen, no inquisitive baby blues to greet her this morning. Perhaps the signal had gone down? It wasn't always that great traveling through Texas was it? That must be it. She wouldn't worry. After all, it was good that he was breaking his routines; he really was far too reliant on them. She wasn't going to worry she decided, and she didn't, until Mary Cooper called.

George Jnr had waited six hours at Houston; he'd returned spitting feathers. Firstly, the train was delayed and he'd spent the best part of his afternoon drinking stale, gritty coffee in a shitty diner. Secondly, when the train did finally turn up, his baby brother was most definitely not onboard.

Amy promised to call after she'd spoken to Sheldon. She tried his phone; it was switched off. She continued to try intermittently, her intervals spaced closer and closer as her fear rose, but it was switched off; always switched off.

However, 7pm was looming and he was after all, she reassured herself, a creature of habit.

7pm came and went. Her phone rang at 7.30pm but it was just Mary again. No news. And now she was worried. Now she rang round, Leonard, Penny, Raj, Howard and Bernadette. No news. Nothing! Where was he?

11pm passed, still no news. Amy faced her blank screen, willing her Skype to chime as her mind played cruel tricks, summoning up heart-stopping visions of his crumpled and broken body, lost forever, never to return. She'd carried her laptop from room to room all night, terrified of missing him, it now sat propped on her bedside table, mockingly blank, his face upon it a cruel memory.

A key turned in her lock, followed by the soft pad of footsteps, the rustle of trousers brushing thighs.

"Amy?"

For a nano-second she thought she was hallucinating, her gasp rent from her even before her eyes had focused on the vision framed by her bedroom doorway.

"Sheldon, are you alright?"

It was an exceedingly stupid question. Clearly he was not. She'd seen him before in an agitated state of course. Now, instead of bongos he clutched a small wash bag, the veins on the back of his hands prominent as he twisted the cloth. He'd lost weight in the weeks they'd been apart and whether due to the 5 o'clock shadow that contoured his cheeks, or the wild stare in his hooded, dark circled eyes, he was as far from 'alright' as she'd ever seen him.

She pushed aside her bed covers and stood, uncertain how to proceed, slightly afraid of him, scared of getting it wrong.

He crossed the room in three steps, sweeping her into his arms, gripping her tightly, holding on for dear life, his stubbly chin scratching her forehead as he pressed her into his chest.

Hanging limp with shock she inhaled, he was warm and sweaty, his scent concentrated, intoxicating as she finally wrapped her arms round his back, counting his ribs with her fingers as she clung back.

It was hard to calculate how long they stayed, crushed together, she on tiptoes, he sagging in compromise as their chests rose and fell in unison before she wriggled her way free to face him, it could have been minutes, hours.

"I need to let your Mother know you're okay." She explained as he nodded and released her, swaying slightly before sitting on the edge of her bed.

'Sheldon's safe. He's here with me. I'll call in the morning.' She sent the text to Mary, included the others, and felt a wave of guilt rise as she switched her phone off, before leaning over to shut down her laptop immediately after.

"Get into bed, I'll make some tea." She instructed, turning to exit.

"Help me Amy." He asked, his tone flat and expressionless, broken.

It was nothing she hadn't done before. Set with a task she found it easier to function as she knelt before him to untie his shoe laces, the act of stripping his socks strangely intimate as she handled his feet, they felt cold, clammy, they were foul and muddy underneath. She unzipped his windcheater, pushing it back off his shoulders to tug it down and off, took it to her wardrobe to place on a hanger and hook on the door handle. She could feel his eyes on her back, hear his slow, shallow breaths, she could feel his angst, it hung in the air like a phantom, tangible and maleficent.

Returning, she knelt to unfasten his belt and trouser fly. How many times had she imagined doing this, it was incalculable, but in never in this circumstance. His arms hung helpless at his side though he stood to let her strip them, helpfully stepping free as they pooled round his ankles, and followed her guidance mutely as she tucked him into her bed.

Waiting while the kettle fuzzed and bubbled she had time to think. He must have disembarked at San Antonio, got a flight to LA, to get here so quickly. Clearly, something terrible had happened. But what?

Placing his tea on her bedside table, she shuffled to sit beside him, her thigh pressed against his hip, the electrical pressure glowing even through her duvet.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She reached forward, her fingers finding his, burrowing into his palm to enclose and squeeze.

He shook his head, the movement slight as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard.

"Do you want to sleep?" She ran her thumb across his fingernails and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze.

He nodded slowly, solemnly, blinking heavy-lidded and black-eyed. She made to rise, to go grab a blanket to take to the sofa, a direct reversal from the last time he had slept over. His hand fastened into a fist, gripping her fingers tight, almost painfully, tugging her back.

"Stay here." It was a plea, not an order, his eyes suddenly frightened and vulnerable.

"Okay." She agreed, squeezing back in reassurance before he released her poor strangled hand.

Irony was a cruel bitch at times. She made her way to the other side of the bed, clad in her Grandmother's highnecked, ankle length, faded and now threadbare flowered nightie. Whilst she had expected him to call tonight, she knew there would be no shenanigans whilst he was in his Mother's house, besides, as with all things Sheldon, even his licentious urges seemed to fall into a pattern, his testosterone levels seeming to peak every 4th day (she had recorded this on her chart) and she wasn't expecting any action till Saturday. Still, a night spent platonically in her bed was progress, chartable progress; but why did she have to be wearing this cruddy thing, it was not how she had planned it, not at all.

Turning to face her as she climbed in, they shuffled ungainly, jerking into position to lay on their sides, mirroring, odd to have the real thing and not some pixilated image, the extra dimensions of scent and feeling strange, exciting, comforting.

Shuffling closer she braved a goodnight kiss. Snuggling into his chest she leaned in with the quickest peck, accepted by his yielding mouth, but not returned. His expression remained unmoved, still and observant.

They lay quietly as the minutes, quarter-hours and half-hours ticked by, her alarm blinking, counting down to the moment that she would have to rise and leave him. She would call in sick, that's what she would do. His eyelids were drooping, staying closed for longer and longer with each blink. She felt herself drifting with him, breathing in time to his soft, puffs of breath that ebbed and flowed leaving her torpid and heavy-limbed.

Somewhere in the orange glow of sunrise, deep within this hallucinogenic limbo she felt his mouth on hers, tasted his kiss, felt the moisture and softness as their lips moved together, currents moving from flesh to flesh, waking her body while her mind slumbered on.

She rolled under him and he was heavy, heavy and pressing down, something rigid rubbed against her thigh and she opened so his body fitted between hers, the cotton of her nightie rucking and tangling up to her knees as her calf caressed his, hairs pricking against her as she ran her foot down to snake round his ankle, the other leg helpless, pinned by his weight as she grasped him, pulling him closer, he could never be close enough, not ever.

There were teeth now, teeth against hers, their open mouths sliding, wet as he slid to bury his face in her neck, hot breath and grazing stubble and a taste, a strong taste that was him, could only be him, the tang of salty skin beneath his jaw stinging her lips.

A nudging now, a teasing, tormenting agony as their centers met. Pulsing, budding as he rubbed again and again, an animal need, a tingling turning to frenzy, trembling her legs till she released her hold on him to tug frantically at her nightie, freeing to wrap herself round narrow, jutting hips, digging sharply into her thighs. A response, a grappling, a fumbling flurry, his weight suddenly heavier, squeezing the air from her lungs, as his hands struggled with the banding on his underpants.

Then flesh against flesh. Hard, stiffened flesh, pressed rigid against soft wetness, probing, missing, slipping up to tease where the sensation was sweetest, sliding down to push hard, suddenly bursting in with a sharp stab and a fullness that took her breath, that jerked and stiffened her body with shock as she cried out.

"Amy?" His face close, an anxious question in her name.

"It's okay?" She reassured, moving her hands now to twist her fingers in his hair, to pull him nearer, his mouth to hers, lips brushing, her voice vibrating into his being. "It's okay."

They lay joined, still, their chemistry united in an alchemy of their souls. His kiss dulled the stinging as she became lost in the heady mix of his touch, his taste, his scent, drowning now, fathoms deep in the sensory cocktail of his hair, skin and breath. Their kiss deepened, hips moving now, to thrust, to jerk, hands tightly gripping her shoulders. She held him as he shook, his gasping cries uttered against her lips, as he shuddered and pulsated inside her.

Laying quiet now, tranquil in the calm after the storm, no words, just soft breathing, the warm prickling of skin on skin, a smarting burn as he softened inside her.

Later, as he slept, she faced her bathroom mirror in the golden half-light of dawn and wondered how she looked the same.

Everything had changed and yet she looked the same.

And everything had changed. Irrevocably.

He was hers.


	8. The Dissimulating Vesture Enlightenment

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 8 : The Dissimulating Vesture Enlightenment **

He really was the most fun person she'd ever met. Who else could persuade her to dress as a pretzel? No one, that's who!

She'd never understood the appeal of dress-up and make-believe as a child, and she most certainly didn't get it now. However, it just made him so absurdly happy, and that in itself was enough to convince her. Enthusiasm is, after all, infectious.

Anyway, perhaps he was right, maybe she did need to be more open minded, free her spirit, plus, if she was honest, the idea of Sheldon dressed as Legolas from Lord Of The Rings was something she really, really wouldn't mind seeing. Actually, Sheldon in any kind of fancy dress at all set her heart racing. Oh my, those knees under those lederhosen, hoo indeed!

The white coat had a similar effect, at first. He looked so devastatingly handsome in it she wondered how she'd get any work done with him looking like sex personified in her lab for a week.

Sadly, any wild fantasies of being taken roughly over the centrifuge were soon quelled, the sexy scientist association of the white coat routed, displaced now to cognate with a brooding, petulant man-child incapable of following the simplest instructions, with a pathological Superiority Complex and Hemophobia (the cherry on the top of his Mysophobia) to boot.

As annoying as he'd been, she couldn't help but sympathise. Sheldon was blind to the truth that even the cleverest man appears a fool when faced with a foreign lexicon. Did he cease to exist when he couldn't excel? How restrictive to only do what you will win at, to unconsciously conceal your inferiority from yourself by cramming your head brimful, till you were overflowing, bursting at the seams with knowledge. And, how dreadful to not even know why you were doing it. Poor Sheldon. She was ready to accept his apology, that is once she finally dragged a sincere one from him, and took him back for the remainder of the week without question.

So, he wasn't perfect. Well, neither was she. What he was, however, was perfect for her, and likewise, she him; she felt it, knew it. Of course she knew he knew it too, to her mind it was just a matter of time, simply a countdown to the day that he'd stop pretending that this huge love did not exist. That time would come, her intuition told her so, and she would be patient till then, after all, no one, not one person is perfect are they?

Unless, of course, you are a flawless sibyl with hair of spun gold whose external grace and beauty is reflected tenfold in inner goodness and compassion.

Penny! Thank God for Penny! Having Penny in her life was paradigm shifting, monumental, a miracle deserving of immortalization. Precious, adored Penny, whose contribution to her world should be honored, recorded for all posterity, shouted from the rooftops! How could mere words ever convey what Penny had done for her? She had given her a life, and what a life; a life coveted but always cruelly out of reach. Now, Penny's munificent acceptance had flushed away the years of hurt and rejection. She'd taken her hand and led Amy blinking in wonderment into a utopian paradise. She was an absolute exception, a Goddess deserving of a shrine, and she would be rewarded.

The image of their sisterhood, their unbreakable bond, would be recorded, preserved forever in oils on canvas like the hallowed and mighty have been for hundreds of years. Yes, three thousand dollars was a lot of money for a portrait, but Penny's actions, good deeds and advice were priceless, incalculable. She deserved no less.

X

When it comes to Sheldon Cooper, she decided, the rules are there are no rules. Sitting in frustration she looked at the nonsense that was her schema line chart, their progress markers dotted randomly as if one of her lab monkeys had got at it with a marker pen.

She shook her head, they'd skipped every 'base' jumping from _preliminary_ to _home run_, she couldn't even document a first base kiss, they'd been lips, saliva, even teeth, but no discernible tongue to speak of, and as the event was a happy vista revisited almost loop-like in her daydreams, she was absolutely certain of this fact.

The man simply defied all logic, and was proving to be the antithesis of every supposition she'd ever made. Perhaps that was the answer, to assume that Sheldon would contradict every rule, do the opposite. She laughed wryly, who would have thought that in the end their virginity was so simply given and quickly taken, just something he had needed and she had to offer, and absolutely contrary to everything she'd ever come to understand about him.

Even her 4-day rule was proving false. It had been a week now. At first she'd put it down to Sheldon's knowledge of her menses, which now ran like clockwork thanks to her contraceptive pill (a grateful nod was due to Bernadette for her excellent advice on this matter, she had saved her a fortune on sanitary products).

Since the event, she had attempted to engage him over Skype but he wasn't keen, perhaps it was the eavesdropping ears of Leonard in the room next door, but he was quick to say goodbye if she suggested any games of a similar nature to those he'd played with her on the train, nor did he seem to need the reassurance of her presence through the night anymore. She missed those big blues in the morning.

The morning after had been odd, awkward, and she'd not managed to broach the subject of their carnal adventure before he'd been swept up from her apartment by a concerned Leonard and Penny, both over-attentive; guilt-ridden possibly. He'd chosen to go with it, to accept their penance, although things were not the same in 4A, anyone could see it, she guessed it probably never would be. Their social group had started an indelible trajectory of change, and Sheldon didn't 'do' change.

She was in a quandary. Not sure what the next step was. Who do you turn to when life offers no answers? To a greater being of course, you seek divine guidance; Penny!

X

"A gas leak Amy! Wow!" Leonard was the weak link here, he was no actor. Amy stole a quick glance at Penny, a silent plea to intervene.

"You poor thing. Well, you can have Leonard's room for the night, he'll stay with me, he doesn't take up much room!" She gave Leonard a cheeky wink to take the sting from her joke.

"Of course! Yes! You must. Of course!" Leonard nodded his agreement, my God he was worse than Wheaton, she rolled her eyes at him, pursed her lips.

Sheldon's sharp eyes darted from face to face, chewing his Pad Thai in silent contemplation, was the gig up?

He swallowed, then sucked at his teeth before stating. "You don't have a toothbrush Amy." There was a beat, everyone holding their breath in suspense before he declared. "You're not using mine."

Their collective out-take of breath was audible, it'd worked, their ruse had got through.

"I've got an unopened toothbrush, not electric, but hey, I don't think that'll be a problem tonight." Penny laughed lasciviously; her wink was for Amy's benefit this time causing her to burn with embarrassment.

In consolation she made amends by adding. "You can borrow a nightie too." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, biting her lip.

Amy turned instinctively for Sheldon's reaction. He looked horrified. She was pretty nonplussed herself, the 'nightie' part was improvised, they hadn't practiced that bit, nor the jibe about the electric toothbrush, sometimes Penny's whimsy left her reeling in its wake.

10pm, bedtime. They'd taken turns in the bathroom. He went first. She was glad. She felt silly in this frilly nightie, she looked like a harlot but Penny had insisted on this one, refused to lend her the little shortie set outright. He was in bed behind his closed door when she emerged, creeping as quietly as she could along the corridor, she'd just got to his door frame before he called out "Goodnight Amy!" She always underestimated his hearing.

10.30pm found her lying quietly in Leonard's bed, listening to the sounds of the apartment after dark. The rising and falling swish of the Pasadena traffic outside the window, the creaking from the neighbors upstairs, she strained her ears for any sound of Sheldon, none were detectable. Should she call out to him, tap on the wall, get up for a glass of water? She had no game plan. Why didn't she have a game plan? Penny had given her some pointers but frankly, they were terrifying. She'd not thought this through properly, why wasn't she better prepared?

The chime of her skype made her jump. It rang out, muffled in her handbag. Scrambling out of Leonard's bed she located it, unzipping and rooting about till her hand found her phone, a rush of excitement when she saw Sheldon's name, fingers clumsy as she touched the screen.

"Can't you sleep?" His voice had an echo, shadowed by a slight delay as he spoke from the room next door, leaning back against his headboard clad in plaid pajamas.

"How did you know I was awake?" She wondered.

'Amy, you snore, we've had this conversation remember." He shook his head at her folly.

"Right!" She nodded. "Right!" Her mind was a blank, where did they go from here?

"Do you want to play a game?" His voice offered no suggestion whatsoever as to what was on his mind.

"Okay." She'd had a few beauties in mind when she'd Skyped him the last few nights, but could she think of a single game now? Nope, not one! The pause was running uncomfortably long so she asked. "You got one in mind?"

"How about Buzz?" He suggested.

"What's Buzz?" She puzzled.

'Oh, an idiotic drinking game favored by my brother and his equally idiotic cohorts, but I've adapted it so it's fit for purpose." He waited a beat to check she was paying attention then ran through the rules.

"I propose that we count up swapping the word 'Buzz' whenever we get to a square number, a cube number, or a palindromic number. No, that's too easy, okay, palindromic numbers have to be swapped with the word 'palindromic' backwards, and rather than "Buzz' you have to say 'square' or 'cube' backwards, unless the number is both square and cubed and palindromic in which case you have to say 'debuc dna erauqs' or 'cimordnilap dna erauqs' and so on accordingly. Oh, and to make it more fun, let's count backwards too!"

"That sounds straightforward." She agreed. "And if we make a mistake there's a forfeit?"

"Of course." He patted his pillows, shuffling on his bed, making himself comfortable. "Now, why don't you start?" He crossed his arms and waited.

"Okay, from 500?" She agreed to his nodded approval. "500, 499, 498, 497, 496, 495, cimordnilap, 493, 492, 491, 490, 489, 488, 487, 486, 485, cimordnilap, 483…."

"Aha, wrong!" Sheldon neatly leapt from the bed in delight. "484 should be cimordnip dna erauqs!" He corrected gleefully.

"Accepted." She bowed her head in agreement. "What's my penalty?"

"Oh that's easy Amy, you need to take off that God-awful thing you're wearing. What is it meant to be anyway, you look like a chintzy brothel lampshade in some tart's boudoir?"

"I wasn't aware you frequented tart's boudoirs Sheldon!" She snarked, resting her phone against Leonard's bedside lamp before crossing her arms to pull the flimsy negligee up and over her head in some relief, grateful that at least she'd been right about Sheldon's preferences despite Penny's insistence that this piece of filmy frivolity would 'do the trick'.

It was his turn to be stumped now. There was a rather loaded silence as they sat facing each other on screen, she clad only in the equally ridiculous French knickers that accompanied this outfit, him swallowing, wide eyed in a throw-back to their adventures on the train. Except they were not on the train now. No, they were separated by just two doors and a short corridor and he was suddenly very aware of this fact.

"Right!" He shook his mind clear to concentrate on the task at hand. "My turn, from 483 then, 482, 481, 480, 479, 478, 477, 476, 475, cimordnilap, 473, 472, 471, 470, 469, 468, 467, 466, 465, cimordnilap, 463, 462, 461, 460, 459, 458, 457, 456, 455, cimordnilap, 453, 452, 451, 450, 449, 448, 447, 446, 445, cimordnilap, 443, 442, erauqs, 440, 439…"

Amy closed her eyes and listened to his mellifluous voice resonating through the wall, counting down, the numbers tripping from his tongue to bathe her in a glow, the delay from throat to phone creating a lilting harmony as if he were reciting a love sonnet. She felt a stirring, the honeyed rhythm of his cadence liquid, soothing as he continued.

" 233, cimordnilap, 231, 230, 229, 228, 227, 226, erauqs, 224, 223, cimordnilap, 221…"

Absent mindedly she brushed her hand over her breast, her nipple hard in the cold night air, sending signals to mix in her belly, setting in motion a swirling, a tingling that began to pulse and move up her spine. She noted the change in his voice, his pitch a little higher now as he continued, his pace a little faster.

"153, 152, cimordnilap, 150, 149, 148, 147, 146, 145, erauqs, 143, 142, cimordnilap, 140…"

Moving her second hand up to mirror, she caressed her other breast, cupping and squeezing, sending electric currents shooting urgently now, feeling herself tighten and pulse, the beat in her loins matching his vocal tempo as his voice rose higher and higher, his pace racing as he neared the end.

"30, 29, 28, ebuc, 26, erauqs, 24, 23, cimordnilap, 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, erauqs, 15, 14, 13, 12, cimordnilap, 10…"

The countdown to zero was a garbled, incoherent rush, the words melding into each other. She opened her eyes to find his intense wild gaze boring through the screen, his expression frantic, his voice a screech.

"Cimordnilap dna erauqs cimordnilap dna ebuc cimordnilap cimordnilap cimordnilap cimordnilap dna erauqs cimordnilap cimordnilap cimordnilap dna erauqs dna ebuc," the last "cimordnilap" almost a howl of desire as he suddenly disappeared from her screen.

Sheldon's feet hit the floor and he was up and out in an instant. His legs carried him of their own accord, incapable of deviating from this path, no choice but to follow this overpowering instinct as it drew him to her, every particle of his matter hurtling at breakneck speed towards her gravitational pull, or as Newton would have it (G * m1 * m2) / (d2) as he burst through Leonard's bedroom door.

Kneeling upon the bed, she seemed rather taken aback by his sudden entrance, her eyes wary, her body braced in surprise before she rose to stand. Something in her countenance stopped him before he reached her and they stood, inches apart, chests rising and falling as they each searched the others face for some clue as to how to proceed.

She made the first move, reaching out gently to touch his face, connecting the current that fizzed between them. She stood on tiptoe as he bent his mouth to hers to taste her now familiar kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lowered her to lie atop Leonard's sheets.

Recumbent beneath him, her body a smorgasbord of texture, scent and sensation, his hand roamed first to one breast then the other, tracing her nipples, his sensitive fingertips reading the rippled pattern of each delicate flesh-bud as she squirmed at his touch, inquisitive fingers exploring, opening his hand to envelop, to gently enclasp, to find that all was as she had told him; soft, pliable, warm, heavy.

Moving in a rhythmic choreography their mouths meshed, to crush, to pucker and suck, the slippery touch of her tongue on his teeth making him jump, recoiling a little. Relentless in her pursuit, she probed, persevered, the sweet sensation as she tipped at his lips finally forcing his surrender as he allowed her entry, to tangle with his tongue, to chase, to tease, the dance charging lusty shocks to his groin till he ached to touch her.

It was too much, in a rush he lowered his hand, a trail of her twitching flesh marking his progress, burrowing beneath the garish, ugly knickers, traversing downy hair to find a secret place of heat and softness, slippery yielding layered flesh enshrouding a hard knot that made her body jerk as he explored. It was no good; he had to see.

He broke their kiss, her surprise and disappointment turning to enthrallment, eyes sparkling as she followed his progress down her body. Slipping his fingers under the banding he drew those hideous knickers down her legs, off over her feet and away, not bothering to look where they landed as he flung them over his shoulder, and surveyed the view spread tantalizingly for his delectation.

He reached for her hand, bringing it to rest upon the soft mound, desperate to know its secrets as he instructed. "Show me Amy."

Slowly, shyly, her fingers slipped down to part, to explore, to trace circles in the swollen flesh. He trailed his own fingers over her velvet skin, touching featherlike not wanting to disrupt, as he watched spellbound, felt the tremble start in her legs, heard her little gasps and 'mmms' before she stiffened, jolting and unraveling right before his eyes. Only now, as she lay panting, did he dare to venture, to press against her pearlescent flesh, to wonder as his finger slipped from view, torturing himself with that which her body promised as he throbbed for her in exquisite agony.

It was certainly a different emotion to the awakening hominism experienced when faced with the business end of his sister and he smiled at the contrast. The realization that beneath this civilized, tamed exterior, we are just animals under our clothes had been hammered home by the brutal bursting forth of his nephew's birth. He now felt the flip side. Gone was the disgust and horror, replaced by an animalistic, primal urge to mount and rut, to make her his.

Rising in a swift, fluid movement he embraced this plain, pure reality, tugging his pajamas down, treading them away without a care as he ascended to take her, to align his body with hers, to thrust inside, content to slip under her spell as the bestial urge of his hind brain took over, to hear her gasps, to feel her body clinging against him as he pushed. She pushed back, her need as urgent and desperate, whispering encouragements against his mouth, her taste, her tongue, her scent sending him over, the sensation of her body renting a cry from him as he buckled and collapsed, shaking as he spilled in a wave of all encompassing bliss.

Catching his breath he reflected that the world had, for a short time, become marvelously simple and beautiful, immediate present and satisfactory, and her presence in it, a form of absolute calm joy.

He unpeeled his flesh from hers, rolling away to lie supine against Leonard's mattress, basking in the pleasure of pure, plain reality.


	9. The Ancient Greece Juxtaposition

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 9 : The Ancient Greece Juxtaposition**

_A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: _

_Its loveliness increases; it will never _

_Pass into nothingness; but still will keep _

_A bower quiet for us, and a sleep _

_Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. _

**_Extract of 'Endymion' by John Keats_**

Gazing down on him, Amy was put in mind of the mythical Endymion, casting her own self in the role of the infatuated moon goddess of Ancient Greece, Selene.

As his soft breaths rose and fell, she was content to watch her beloved slumber, to drink and drown in his unsurpassed beauty. The blue light of the moon through her window shadowed his face, contouring to highlight the delicacy of his features and she breathed an enraptured sigh at his exquisiteness. Gently, so as not to wake him, she maneuvered the bongos from Sheldon's arms, smiling as he shuffled and grunted at the disruption.

How tempting to snuggle in beside him, but her couch was too small, and he'd been quite adamant that he did not wish to share a sleeping space with her, and she had offered her bed, more than once. So, a little heavy-hearted and lovesick, she took herself back to her bedroom alone.

Sleep evaded her, the thrill of his just being there in her apartment overnight left her feverish and impassioned. This must be a sign, a confirmation that her 5-Year Plan was not only being realized, but at a vastly accelerated pace to that which she'd predicted. He had only officially been her boyfriend for a matter of weeks and yet here he was, right next-door, sound asleep on her couch. The next step had to be cohabitation surely? She felt quite giddy with the excitement of it all.

It was no good, she was wide-awake now. Flicking on her bedside lamp she thumbed through her latest book, the chapter she was seeking dog-eared and just short from being remembered off by heart. As she read, her pulse raced anew as Fabio mounted the wild stallion he had tamed, and raced bareback at breakneck speed across the moonlit beach towards Carmella's cliff-top cabin. However, in her minds eye, Fabio's build had become rather svelte, his skin pale and his hair, though still dark, much, much shorter, although the fringe fell into his eyes and he brushed it away in irritation as the horse galloped, his bounding hooves splashing through the surf.

Finishing the chapter her body itched with a sensation that was becoming all too familiar of late. Could she risk employing 'Gerard' again? It had only been a matter of hours since her last encounter with her toothbrush, what on earth was that man doing to her endocrine system. No, she didn't want to wake him, and she'd learned to do what she was about to quietly from absolute necessity, she swore her Mother had some sort of built in 'stress relief' radar.

Rolling onto her front she grappled with her pillow, pressing her body against its softness, its hollow fibers as imagined warm flesh, its cotton cover Sheldon's sweet skin as she lowered her hand beneath the banding of her pajama bottoms to join him atop a squally cliff-top, their bodies entwined on a bearskin laid low on flagstones, the crackling heat of the fire in the grate no match for their burning passion as outside the storm battered the walls of their tumbledown cabin in impotent envy, unable to better the wild pounding of flesh that was taking place inside.

X

"I'm surprised your gas leak didn't make the papers?" He peered down at her as they ascended the final flight of stairs at 2311 N. Los Robles Avenue.

Avoiding his eye, she felt a cold shiver slither up her spine. Damn, she knew it'd been too good to be true, she'd been expecting this all week, and hadn't quite believed she had got away with the lie.

"Oh, these things are really quite common." She kept her voice light, gave a little tinkling laugh she'd been practicing as he turned his key in the lock of apartment 4A.

"Do you smell burning?" Sheldon sniffed the air as he entered, looking around in alarm.

"You're being paranoid Sheldon." She vied for time. "It's just your imagination."

He circumnavigated the apartment, his nose twitching before he double-backed and approached her.

"No, no, and it's coming from over here!" He stopped two feet from her, crossing his arms as he faced her before continuing.

"Well looky here, it would seem, liar, liar, that once again your pants are on fire!" His expression did not match the mocking tone of his words.

Uh oh! He sure looked mad and she was already on a warning for lying about being sick when she snook off for coffee with Bernadette.

Opening her mouth, she managed not one word in defense before he interrupted.

"Save your breath Amy. Don't insult me by denying it!" He shook his head in disappointment as she hung her head, before turning to sit in his spot.

"You know the drill, assume the position." He patted his lap, his expression fixed in a determined scowl.

"Believe you me, your neither regions will be burning in more than just an idiomatic way when I'm finished with you little lady." He promised.

She capitulated. Removing her shoes, she arranged herself across his legs, then took off her glasses and placed them on the coffee table before resting her head on his armrest.

Sheldon surveyed the scene before him, her pert, well-proportioned bottom in her denim skirt a good distance from his right hand as she lay draped across his lap, just enough arm room to get a good swing in. He shook his head in disappointment, clearly the last spanking had not been enough of a deterrent and he could not, would not, abide being lied to. This had to count, had to hammer the message home. He reached for the hem of the skirt and began to tug. Amy lifted her head, her surprised green eyes questioning but not protesting as he exposed her bottom, resplendent in its white-cottoned panties.

"Are you ready to accept your punishment?" He questioned.

"Yes Sheldon. I have been a very bad girl, do with me what you will." Her voice was tremulous, a little shaky but she sounded more excited than afraid. Was she mocking him?

He brought his palm down slap on her right cheek with a loud crack making her body jolt in surprise and a startled "whoa" burst from her.

Snapping her head round she gaped at him in shock. Quickly, he brought his hand down again, this time stinging her left buttock and raising a matching hand-print on each as her objecting "ow" sounded out.

Her mouth opened to protest but she clearly thought better of it as his hand descended again, back to the right, marrying his hand with the red mark that was burning hot with another sharp slap, this time letting it rest to feel the heat rise before becoming suddenly aware of another heat source that teased his thumb as it touched the scalloped banding of her underwear. Absent-mindedly he allowed his thumb to sweep the humid strip of material, the soft, padded flesh below twitching and he felt his own loins twitch in response. Her eyes opened wide in hypnotized wonder as she inhaled a staggering breath to hold his gaze.

Taking a deep breath he raised his hand again, letting it smack down to the left, the heat from her slapped cheek rising but no match for the other heat that now teased at his fingertips as they brushed the elastic banding on the other side of the thin strip of material that stretched between her buttocks, molding to her shape beguilingly. He couldn't resist and his fingers lightly traced the outline, stroking with the gentlest touch back and forth along the damp material to draw a gasp from her as she squirmed on his lap, her stomach now pressed down heavy to rub against his own growing excitement.

As if of their own accord, his curious fingers snaked their way under the banding to dabble in the slick flesh, rejoicing in the feel of her arousal, to seek and find the spot that made her body spasm with little jolting "ahs" as he explored further.

Landing upon it, a stiffened nub quite distinct from the pliable, malleable flesh surrounding, he took up a remorseless rub and squeeze, mimicking her own actions from the week before when she had exposed the secrets of her body to him, his fingers deft and nimble as he determined how much friction would suffice to release the pent up tide that he felt quivering within her. A cocksure smile played on his lips as she gripped frantically at his t-shirt, her other hand a stiffened claw against the arm rest as her eyes misted then screwed tight as a long 'oh' left her and her body juddered and released against his hand.

He allowed his hand to cup her, enjoying the twitching spasms against his palm as her body settled and her breathing slowed. She opened her eyes to meet his, a silent question, telepathic as she slipped her hand beneath her own stomach to discover the engorged outline of him pressing proud against her, closing her fingers round to determine the shape of him through his trousers.

Amy knew no one had ever touched him like this, it felt sacred, a ritualistic act of worship as she trailed her fingers over his rigid form. Gently she ran her finger up and down the length of him, before laying her palm flat and squeezing to revel in his tautness. His left hand tangled in the hair at the back of her neck as she proceeded, tugging hard, a small strangled sound left him as she summoned the courage to unbuckle and release him from his fly.

Her fingers had just released his belt buckle when suddenly he wriggled free from beneath her in a desperate flurry of activity. Before she knew it, he was behind her, his hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into the flesh at the top banding of her panties. They froze as the implications hit home, positioned together in stasis, like two randy dogs in heat.

In desperation she ground back against him, the gusset of her sodden panties rucking tight against her most sensitive spot as she thrummed for him, pushing hard, her need unbearable, imploring him with her body to submit as his fingers gripped her flesh harder still, his nails sharp and painful as he surrendered to pull her body against his.

Delighting in the glorious sounds of his zipper and the elastic twang as her panties were pulled roughly down, she was taken in utter surprise as he entered. Had he grown? She stretched to accommodate him, whimpering as he hit a spot hitherto unknown, that sent blissful ripples to infiltrate every part of her being, a plying tingle that weakened her muscles with such a shivery rush that her body quaked as he slid to fill and tease her in this magic place.

A sensation began to build, winding like clockwork within, prickling her skin with perspiration as an ecstatic tension threatened to erupt within her. Something big was coming, a tsunami rising, that sapped her strength leaving her helpless as he drove into her. She was a time bomb ticking down, close, close, closer, till, in an exploding rush, she was swept away, her body jettisoned debris within a swirling whirlpool of spiraling euphoria as she howled a guttural, rasping cry. Her call matched by him moments later, his body bearing down as he imploded to crash heavy on her back, his teeth bared in a snarl of pure animal pleasure as he shook against her.

They lay flattened in a sultry puddle of panting respiration and undulating ribcages, his weight crushing, the dewy skin of his cheek kindling against hers, clammy as their breaths mingled with the musty scent of passion that hung in the air around their spent bodies.

"Everything that deceives may be said to enchant." His stuttering, breathless whisper, truncated the sentence into distinctive morphemes that blew humid against her ear.

She shifted under his weight, unsticking the bare skin of her legs from the sofa and feeling the first trickle of his seed.

"Sheldon, did you just quote Plato to me?" She wondered.

He ignored her question, finally succeeding in swallowing down a deep lungful of breath before stating.

"Amy, I believe we need to set parameters in place for our carnal activities, this simply won't do!"

She couldn't help but smile, his 'we're like wild animals in heat, it's a wonder neither of us has been hurt' drifted into her mind in all its prophetic glory, but she reigned back her giggle to answer somberly.

"I concur, but right now, I have a rather pressing need for the bathroom so, if you'll let me up, I propose that we continue his conversation face to face once I have performed the necessary ablutions."

The pressure on her back ceased instantly at these words as he jumped to scramble up almost apologetically.

She scrabbled blindly for her glasses before making an unsteady journey to the bathroom on rather shaky legs, a thought suddenly occurring as she reached for the handle. Turning, she stopped in the doorway.

"Well Sheldon, staying in the realm of Ancient Greece, and Plato particularly, one quote does rather spring to mind." She failed to keep the grin from her voice.

Looking up from his spot on the sofa, he ceased fiddling with this fly and belt to face her in full attention as she continued.

"Honesty is for the most part less profitable than dishonesty." She winked and quickly shut the bathroom door before the giggle finally escaped her.


	10. The Accelerated Conformity Schematic

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 10 : The Accelerated Conformity Schematic**

Here she was, making a scene!

Making a scene with her bestie behind her, backing her all the way.

Making a scene on behalf of all womankind, for the honor of her Aunt Flora's 93 years on the planet but most of all, for herself, for Amy Farrah Fowler PhD.

And it worked. And some! Now she had a ticket to the California Science Center with Sheldon all to herself. Penny was a sorceress, an oracle!

She pondered on how Sheldon really, really was the best boyfriend while she stopped the oracle's golden tresses trailing in vomit as Penny disembogued the alcoholic penalties of their earlier drinking game down the lavatory.

Who'd ever have thought Dr Sheldon Lee Cooper was so susceptible to social pressure? It set her mind tick, ticking.

If even a brain as unique and brilliant as his yielded to cultural manipulation, in this case directed by a person of average intelligence, admittedly a congenial and personable person of average intelligence (who was currently face-down in a toilet pan, hoiking and heaving out the last of her stomach contents), then the possibilities that arose from someone with exceptional intellectual ability, coupled with specialization in the field of Neurobiology, employing similar tactics was more than promising.

Leaving Penny tucked into bed and topped up with soluble antacid, she returned to her apartment that night in a state of exhilarated optimism.

Flipping her laptop open, she tapped her fingers on her desk, impatient as it warmed up, before they flitted in a frantic clunking fervor across the keyboard, a sanguine smile turning the corners of her mouth as a systematic plan of action took shape on the screen. She titled it:

**_A Blueprint for Conformity. _**

**_A strategic plan to formulate condensed affection in an accelerated time-frame._**

There would be no collusion here, she knew enough of Sheldon's personality to be able to present her machinations in an open challenge, confident that he would pooh-pooh and trivialize it before blithely accepting with the explicit and unhidden intention of debunking her theory outright. Poor, silly boy, he didn't know what was about to hit him. She almost pitied him as she started to shape her plan:

**_Overview:_****_ A proposed series of experiments to revive dormant sexual and emotional development employing the use of positive previous experience during exposure to new stimulus to influence an affirmative response._**

**_Positive Cognitive Associations to facilitate Priming from Implicit Memories (not exhaustive)._**

**_Hobbies and interests:_**

**_Trains, all denominations from collecting toys to tourism. Collecting and reading Action Hero comics. Collecting specific cultural interest memorabilia. Cosplay, particularly Action Hero Dress-up. Interactive Online Gaming. Fantasy Trading Card Games. Board Games, specifically Dungeons and Dragons and various adaptations of Chess. _**

**_Cultural influences:_**

**_Generic Sci Fi but specifically Star Trek and Star Wars. Action adventures such as Indiana Jones and Goonies. Action Hero movies based on comic book characters. TV Series, specifically Firefly, Walking Dead. Lord of The Rings, Game of Thrones. _**

**_Favorite Foods / Beverages:_**

**_Yoohoo. Strawberry Quik. Spaghetti with little hotdogs. Fried Chicken. Pecan Pie. Pizza. Chinese. Indian. Thai. Hamburgers._**

**_Childhood Video Games: _**

**_Super Mario. Sonic The Hedgehog. Donkey Kong. Legend of Zelda. Mega Man. Final Fantasy. Doom. World of Warcraft_**

**_Physical Activities:_**

**_Paintball. Bowling._**

**_Social Activities:_**

**_Cinema. Dining Out._**

**_Hypothesis:_**

**_Subject displays acute levels of social ineptitude juxtaposed in direct correlation with excessively high IQ, coupled with suppressed libido due to the impediment of social isolation at the Latent stage and obsessive fixation on the Anal phase of development. _**

**_Subject has employed Sublimination and Sexual Transmutation to transform libido into creative energy geared primarily towards higher education in the scientific field of physics and has developed his Ego Ideal to extreme levels. _**

**_There is self-admitted evidence that subject has entered the Genital stage and uses suppression methods (specifically, a fictional mind-control method, Kolinahr) to curb sexual urges. _**

**_Subject displays neurologically normal Storge emotions towards his family, particularly his mother and maternal Grandmother, and I intend to revisit the Oral Stage of his psychosexual development, initially in the introduction of favorite childhood foods and beverages, and utilize Ebbinghaus' study of Priming and Implicit Memory to transfer the unconscious Oedipus Complex to myself._**

There was no better place to start than the beginning after all and, in her learned opinion, Sheldon had skipped some pretty important childhood milestones.

Amy selected his four predominantly childhood based favorites: His favorite hobby (trains), favorite dinner (spaghetti with little hotdogs and Strawberry Quik), favorite show (Star Trek) and his favorite game (Super Mario) and got to work.

Now all she needed was the right opportunity to present her experiment to him and receive his, she guessed blasé and dismissive, permission to proceed.

On application, the results were astonishing, more than pleasing:

**Experiment i:**** The preparation of subject's favorite childhood meal and beverage with subliminal background noise: Super Mario Brothers theme tune.**

**Result:**** Successful.**

**Notes:**** By subject's own admission, I quote verbatim: 'We should do this more often.'**

**Experiment ii:**** Amtrak Junior Conductor Induction.  
**

**Result:**** Successful.**

**Notes: Subject conveyed enthusiastic gratitude over Skype. Appeared elated and displayed vocal exuberance and dilated pupils when recounting experience.**

The write up for experiment iii was a far simpler affair, under the initial description:

**Experiment iii:**** Star Trek Cosplay, instigating a medical examination on subject whilst dressed as Nurse Chapel to mimic the early exploratory experiences of the Phallic Stage. **

**Result:**** Successful.**

**Notes:**

Was just the one word;

**Gotcha!**

X

"French kissing?" Amy peered up from her clipboard, pen in hand, her body angled in the armchair as she faced the direction of his spot.

"Not a fan." Sheldon shook his head.

"You can't keep saying 'not a fan' Sheldon." She tut-tutted. "If you want to veto an activity then can we please stick to 'negative' as agreed?"

She took a steadying breath. "So, again, French kissing?"

He scowled, his lips pursed and face sour, clearly wrangling with an internal struggle before conceding. "Affirmative, with sanctions."

"Sanctions?" She exasperated. She was slowly losing the will to live and they'd not even ventured beyond 'first base' as yet.

"What sanctions do you propose?" She sighed.

"Obviously, utmost oral hygiene should be taken as a given, but I propose that no French kissing should take place without both parties having carried out a health check and reporting any anomalies to the interested second party." He stipulated.

"Health check? Can you be more specific?" She probed.

"Both parties must report, at the first instance, any signs of otolaryngological illness and take their temperature before French kissing commences." He specified.

"Agreed." She allowed with another sigh, this was going to take longer than she had anticipated.

Moving quickly on to the next base she met his gaze.

"Breasts!" She smiled as his face animated at the word before he quickly masked his expression, forming his face into one of mild interest and polite curiosity as he waited for her to continue.

"Manual stimulation of breasts over and under clothing?" She waited, pen poised.

"Affirmative." He nodded.

"Oral stimulation under clothing?" She avoided his eye as she asked the question, scribbling on her notepad.

"Oral Stimulation?" He queried.

"Yes, sucking and licking the nipples Sheldon." She confirmed.

"Like breastfeeding?" He looked disgusted. "Are you lactating?"

"Don't be ridiculous, how would I be lactating?" She shook her head. "Please refer to the erogenous zones chart I prepared. Now, again, oral stimulation of breasts under clothing?"

"We need a third option, I propose 'for cogitation'." He pouted as he folded his arms.

"Fine!" She granted, adding a new column to her chart, mouthing as she wrote. "For Cogitation."

"Genitals." She felt a blush rising at the very word, how ridiculous, she was a scientist with a PhD, in Neurobiology of all things, but she suddenly felt crippled by shyness as she sneaked a peek over her clipboard at him.

He swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing taut in his throat, looking a little pink himself as he met her eye.

She cleared her throat. "Manual stimulation of the genitals over and under clothing?"

He blinked wildly and had to clear his own throat before his rather strangled. "Affirmative."

She nodded as she wrote, happy to avoid his stare as her eyes fell on the next category. Oh my! She took a deep breath.

"Oral stimulation of the genitals." She did not look up from the clipboard but heard a choking sound emanating from him.

"Oral? As in licking and sucking of the…" he couldn't finish the sentence.

Nodding with a quiet "yes" she kept her eyes down.

"You do realize we urinate from down there don't you?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes, thank you Sheldon!" She withered him with a look before adding. "It may interest you to know that in fact the vagina is one of the most hygienic areas in the human body being self-cleaning with it's own self-regulatory lactobacilli and has fewer germs, on average by the product of 10, than the mouth."

"You're really not helping your case for French kissing here Amy!" He tilted his head derisively.

"I take it that's a 'negative' then?" She challenged as he ummed and arrhed.

"I think we need to break this category down." He dodged.

"How so?" She questioned laying her clipboard in her lap.

"Well, the male and female reproductive systems are vastly dissimilar. I don't believe you can treat them the same." He wriggled.

"Don't you?" She snarked as she was struck by a sudden moment of clarity.

"Oh, I see where this is going; Affirmative to felatio; Negative to Cunnilingus. Am I right?" It was her turn to cross her arms, leaning back in the armchair as a scowl spread across her features.

He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding her eye before rising suddenly to stand as he announced.

"I call 'for cogitation' on his particular issue and suggest we take a tea break now." He bustled past her legs on the way to the kitchen without looking at her.

Sulking a little she joined him at the kitchen island watching in moody silence as he busied himself with the kettle. Damn him and his lissom beauty, and curse those blue eyes as they met hers with an unasked question, eyebrows raised in enquiry.

"Liquorice." She answered those inquisitive brows, before adding as an afterthought. "And peppermint."

Those brows rose higher in surprise, his shoulders jogging with a small shrug and she found herself entranced by his fingers, dexterous and elegant as he unwrapped the t-bags, popping the two flavors in a mug for her with a small, secret smile, just for her, as he teased.

"Decadent."

And there was that twinkle again. That dazzling sparkle that sent tingles up her spine, that made her insides hot and liquid. How the hell she was going to retain her sensibilities to discuss coitus with him and not melt into a puddle of girlish goo she couldn't fathom?

Returning to the sofa she took the middle seat next to him on the couch, the steaming mugs sitting side by side on the coffee table as she rooted around in her briefcase to find her diagrams.

She adopted a professional air as she presented the first sheet.

"Coitus." She twisted to face him, all of a sudden very aware of how close he was, her knee mere centimeters from his, the electrical connection between them an almost audible buzz in the air.

"As we have previously engaged in sexual intercourse three times, are you happy with my assumption that coitus be included in our relationship agreement." She checked.

"Affirmative." He clarified, nodding for her to continue.

"Excellent." She noted this on her clipboard and expanded further. "It would appear Sheldon that I am in the happy 30% of women capable of orgasm via sexual intercourse alone, quite possibly due to the lowered estrogen levels that come with my age making the G-spot accessible."

"Or more likely due my sexual prowess!" He protested. "Even if I do say so myself, I gave it to you (he was going to say 'good' but went with the grammatically correct) well!" He wiggled those frisky eyebrows in challenge.

Ignoring him, she continued her pitch.

"However, I have studied common sexual positions and would propose those detailed here," she waved her hand in a rather stiff sweeping gesture to indicate her diagrams, "as being the most likely to stimulate the paraurethral gland. "

"That one's upside down." She reached to rotate the paper in his hand, her arm brushing his and generating a current that branded her skin, crackling through her flesh to her very core.

"Why have you drawn me with long hair?" He puzzled.

"Erm, I did not major in art Sheldon, they are simply rough guidelines." She evaded.

"I've got quite defined pectorals in this one." He noted.

"Irrelevant." She dismissed in a fluster. "Now, returning to the subject please. What's important is the angle of penetration. As you can see, in this rear-entry position, I have clearly marked the paraurethral gland, or more commonly named G-Spot, and we should be aiming for an entry angle of 225 degrees in order to increase stimulation of this area to maximize potential for internal orgasm."

"Internal orgasm?" He questioned in confusion.

"Yes, there are two types, clitoral and G-Spot." She confirmed.

"Seems rather greedy." He appeared genuinely put out.

"Just one of the perks of being a girl, oh that and multiple orgasms of course." She winked, her grin lopsided and playful.

"Show me the difference." He demanded, edging closer, the electric spark of their earlier touch still held.

"What!" The smirk was wiped from her face, replaced by wide-eyed surprise as he slid his hand under her skirt to snake up the inside of her thigh, tickling and tingling its way as he cupped her over her underwear.

"Which one is this?" He asked as his nimble fingers started to trace tight circles over her underwear.

Inhaling sharply, she managed to squeak. "Clitoral."

"I see." His lips were a whisper away and the seductive pull of them irresistible as she leaned in to kiss him, tracing her fingers in the downy hair at the back of his neck as she ruffled his hairline, the sensation trickling through her fingertips to pool in her belly in a swirling craving welter.

His fingers snook under the banding of her panties, first one, then the another, pushing them to the side to probe and explore, sliding up to tease her pulsing spot then slipping away to torment till she throbbed in desperate frustration, squeezing her thighs together to crush his hand as he circled and pressed, her body tremoring with the build-up till she peaked, surging to crest and overspill as she rode the crashing, flying wave of bliss, her "Oh my!" gasped against the sweet taste of his lips.

The outline of his smile shaped on her mouth and she deepened the kiss, lowering her hands to his shoulders in an attempt to explore his body. He pulled back at the taste of her tongue, shaking his head in mock annoyance.

"You've not taken your temperature Amy?" He scolded. "And frankly, you seem rather hot!"

"I can assure you I am in the rudest health Dr Cooper!" she laughed as she lowered her hands further, trailing down his chest on her ascent.

Backing off, he surveyed her, his expression scrutinous and quite serious.

"Well, you do have the ruddy glow one would associate with hale and hearty health so, on this occasion, I waive my rights." And he permitted her entry, allowing her to explore the smoothness of his teeth before his own tongue parried with hers, the limber muscle pushing against her for entry as she became aware of a synchronized foray from his fingers as they too entered and explored, first one then another in a mirrored choreography, probing and searching in a quest for discovery.

Those years of self-administered prostate exams proved invaluable as he sought the analogous locus within her. Her muffled "oh' sighed into his mouth told him he'd found the treasure, X marks the spot!

Curling his fingers in a come hither movement, he took up rapid caressing volutions inside her flesh. And she came, hither and dither betwixt sublime agony, his touch intense, torturous, too much, and the abhorrent blinding panic that he may cease his ministrations and leave her stranded, a quivering wreck of want.

A rising crescendo rippled whorls of pleasure to engulf and conquer every extremity of her body till in blessed relief, she tensed and trembled to crown, shuddering as she tumbled helter-skelter through a helix of convulsing, eclipsing ecstasy that sapped the strength from her limbs and the coherence from her brain, her exclamations gibberish against the up-curl of his gruntled smile as the vibrations of his exclamation tickled her lips.

"Fascinating!"

Breaking the embrace, he turned to whip three tissues from the box that sat beside the arm of the chair, delicately wiping his hands as he surveyed the diagrams that now lay scattered on the coffee table. Reaching forward, he took the sheets in his hand, then rose, the bulging at the front of his trousers level with her panting face, drawing her eye to the promise that he was not done with her, not by a long shot, and rousing a new thrill that assuaged her exhaustion with renewed longing and need.

"Hmm." He pondered. "I believe it best if further negotiations continue in my bedroom. Sheets are easier to clean than leather."

Lost in thought, he wandered away, studying the diagrams intently, he entered the corridor to his bedroom and disappeared from view, his voice ringing in the clean acoustics of the hallway as he called back.

"Amy, bring your clipboard!"


	11. The Candid Fidelity Veracity

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 11 : The Candid Fidelity Veracity  
**

She felt robbed. A deadweight of disappointment plunged to the deepest depths of her gut. She was not to be a maid of honor.

Stupid NASA putting Howard's mission forward! Stupid, selfish NASA! Didn't they realize people had lives, had hopes and dreams? Selfish, selfish, selfish! Well, screw them! She was wearing her tiara to City Hall come hell or high water!

Still, she supposed as she finalized her online application that night, being ordained, she could now attend, and officiate, at as many weddings as she pleased. Likewise, one of their ordained friends could marry her and Sheldon. She gave a sad, wry laugh as she printed then filed the paperwork. That day sure seemed a long way off.

She'd had such high hopes, but they were fast approaching their second anniversary and he seemed to be digging his heels in whenever she tried to move them forward, deliberately thwarting her. There was still a small glimmer though, he was booking a restaurant for their anniversary dinner, that counted, that was another spike on the 'conventional romance' schema line wasn't it? She sighed, those joyful little peaks had been so few and far between lately.

Her reflection appeared in the shiny black of the screen as her laptop shut down, she smiled as she noticed the tiara that still adorned her head. There she sat in plaid pajamas and a glittering crown, the embodiment of the princess and the pea, she'd forgotten she was wearing it. She unclipped it and turned it in her hand in melancholy remembrance; it's stones catching the light to refract a dancing myriad of rainbow sparkles on the wall behind her desk. That had been the last entry on her chart, when he'd given her this, when he'd accepted her kiss and even returned her hug. Would the day ever come, she wondered, when he made the first move, when he reached out to her rather than simply tolerating her touch?

The chair screeched on the floor as she pushed it back and made her way to the bathroom. Early to bed, it was a big day tomorrow. She needed to be up early to write her part of the service, for some reason, tonight, she just couldn't find the words.

It was like sitting in a bubble, nothing seemed quite right in this bobbing, floating unreality. There on the TV screen was the Soyuz Spaceship, and in that spaceship capsule was someone she actually knew, the very recent husband of one of her friends in fact; Howard Wolowitz of all people!

She was going to wake up soon; it couldn't be real! Seriously, of all the people to send into space, they picked Howard? No, no, no, it was some sort of strange hallucination, had to be! Any minute now Penny was going to walk in with a donkey's head instead of her own and Sheldon, who sat but a whisper away next to her would morph into a giant cherry popsicle and then she'd awaken with a sudden start, tangled in her bed-sheets and bathed in cold sweat.

Penny did enter, to her relief, head quite intact and just as beautiful as ever, rushing to take the seat next to Leonard, twisting her hand in his as the countdown started, DYEH-sit', DYEH-vit', VOH-seem, syehm. shehst', pyat', che-TYH-ree, tree, dvah, ah-DEEN almost drowned out by the rumble of the ignition onscreen and the fuzz in her head that refused to accept this as reality.

Suddenly in all the confusion came a touch. The electric flicker of warm flesh on her own, of gripping fingers pressing a glowing current into the marrow of her bones, clearing the mist from her eyes and the fizzing in her brain to see clearly as she whipped round in surprise to face his profile, watching his lips form the words "Boldly go, Howard Wolowitz" then following the intent route of his vision back to the TV screen as, before her very eyes, Payload Specialist Howard Joel Wolowitz blasted off in a thunderous explosion to disappear from sight far beyond the Earth's hemisphere.

They sat, all six of them in hand-linked pairs, conjoined in stunned silence, not a word spoken, breaths inhaled and held and bodies rigid. The TV garbled on to change its subject as the program ended. It was Sheldon who rose, breaking the bond of their skin as he reached for the remote, his movement shattering the spell to reanimate the others. They bustled and chattered in a rising buzz, their patting hands, comforting Bernadette whose tears flowed and shoulders shook.

Only Amy remained frozen, the echo of Sheldon's flesh still burning on hers, a prickling scorched shadow of touch. The electrical connection still held though he moved away now and her eyes bored into his back to transmit a telepathic message that touched his soul as he approached the kitchen. Bernie was upset, and the answer was, of course, a hot beverage, but he clearly felt the magnetism of her stare, pausing to steal the smallest glance, eyes connecting, clicking with hers for a fraction of a moment before he set about his task.

What a strange testament to their uncommon love it was that, on the day Howard Wolowitz (seriously HOWARD WOLOWITZ!) was blasted into space, the most bizarre, unlikely and fantastic (in both the real and informal sense of the word) thing to happen was that Sheldon Cooper reached for her hand.

Whilst encouraging, it pushed the bar of her expectations. She tried to damp down her optimism but their anniversary dinner loomed and she just couldn't keep her excitement in check. They were making progress, something big was around the corner; she just knew it. Turns out the 'something big' was Raj.

She sent Raj packing in no uncertain terms then turned her wrath on Sheldon who had the audacity to pretend to misunderstand her. She had a level of tolerance, and he'd just breached it! There was only so much sabotage she would tolerate. Seething, she set her terms clearly, leaving him in no doubt of her expectations. And now the ball was in his court. It was make or break time. He either delivered something heartfelt and meaningful or it was adios!

And he delivered, in clear, precise diction.

That it was dialogue from some dumb movie mattered not. It was the context, the small lowering of his shields that struck her, the exposure of his own chink of vulnerability that made her own sacrifice worthwhile.

He was prepared to try, and that was enough.

For now.

X

At seven o'clock precisely the knocks sounded on her door. Nine equally spaced knocks reverberating through the wood, her name called thrice at equal divisions within the pattern. One day she intended to question him on what imagined demon this ritual kept at bay; but not today.

She'd been leaning against the arm of her chair waiting, watching the clock, straining her ears for any sound of him outside, the temptation to sneak a peak, to jump out and shout "boo" almost overpowering, but she resisted. There was only so much you could spring on Sheldon at any one time and she had plans for him tonight. Plans carefully orchestrated with the help of her Bestie and she needed him pliable, well as pliable as it was possible to get Sheldon.

"Why aren't you ready?" His brows knitted at her appearance as he stood in the doorway, shaking his head as he entered. "We're on a tight schedule. We have a Thai meal at 1930HRS followed by 15 minutes of foreplay involving manual stimulation of the genitals followed by sexual intercourse to mutual climax in the scissors position when we return, and here you are still in your dressing gown!"

He scowled as he reprimanded her. "Well, it's your time you're wasting little lady, this is coming out of the foreplay schedule. Now get ready, chop chop!" He clapped his hands at her.

"What day is it Sheldon?" She coaxed.

"Thursday, but it's only the second Thursday this month so don't try and pull any date-night malarkey." He warned.

"It's Thursday 14th August isn't it?" She gave him a clue.

"So?" He was starting to get agitated so she cut straight to the chase.

"Sheldon, today is a Thursday with a mirrored date, and so, as per our revised relationship agreement, that makes it…?" She guided.

"Anything can happen Thursday!" He exasperated, huffing out a sigh of annoyance at his own stupidity.

"That's right, and we agreed ladies first did we not?" She waited for his small nod of acceptance before continuing. "So, in the true spirit of Anything Can Happen Thursday, I'm going to pop a lasagna in the oven and, while it's cooking, I thought we could amuse ourselves with a little Cosplay."

At this she tackled her dressing gown, loosening the cord to tease him with a glimpse of the Star Trek Nurse Chapel costume he'd been so enamored with previously.

"You should have warned me when we exchanged temperatures earlier, I would have brought my Spock costume." He whined, pouting petulantly.

"Perhaps, next time." She comforted as she shrugged the dressing gown off her shoulders to lay it on the back of her couch, giving him a little wink before walking away towards the fridge, calling back over her shoulder. "Drink? YooHoo? Strawberry Quik?"

"Do you have Strawberry Quik powder or syrup?" He queried.

"Syrup." She waved the bottle at him from the fridge door.

"Then YooHoo please." He confirmed.

She placed the little bottle on the counter top then bent down to the freezer compartment for the lasagna, hearing a choked strangled sound rise in his throat.

"Amy, Nurse Chapel wore tights, not stockings, and, I don't mean to embarrass you, but you appear to have forgotten your underwear." He protested.

She said nothing in response but felt his eyes track her every move as she set the oven timer and popped the frozen tray-bake in. She washed her hands before she prepared his drink, looking up as the liquid glug-glugged into the glass to catch his eye.

"Thirsty?" Her voice husked the question as he nodded mutely, standing awkwardly by the arm of her couch.

"Take a seat." She instructed as she approached and he tore his eyes away to settle in the middle of her couch, stiffly upright, hands clamped on his knees, his eyes wide in surprise as she placed the glass on the table, bending as Penny had shown her to flash the banding of soft white flesh above the stocking tops, a thrill flushing through her as she was rewarded by the surreptitious darting refocus of his stare and his nervous swallow.

"You seem a little peaky Dr Cooper." She straightened up to survey him, her expression concerned and quizzical "Please remove your jacket and allow me to perform a Health Scan."

The rustle of cloth as he removed his windcheater spoke of his obedience as she opened her desk-drawer to find the medical tri-scanner. She returned to find his gaze expectant and eager.

"Please hold still while I take a reading." She ordered and she stepped between his open legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, looking down at the swirly rosette of short dark hair at the top of his skull.

His breath blew hot against her while the scanner bleeped and whistled its sound-waves round his head and shoulders.

"An excellent reading Dr Cooper." She confirmed. "I am detecting a colossal intelligence quotient, far beyond any previously recorded, as well as Vulcan Heritage." He looked up, blue eyes glinting with delight.

"Keep scanning." He urged.

Dropping to her knees she passed the scanner over his chest before reporting. "Vital signs are good. Excellent organ function in the upper body."

Lowering the scanner still, her voice suddenly changed tone, to one of urgent concern. "Evidence of disturbance in the lower organs."

This was no fallacy, there was certainly some clear 'evidence' standing proud against his fly now, she felt herself tighten in sympathy as a moist pulse started to thrum in her center.

"I'm detecting alarming levels of Vulcan Blood Lust, quite possibly a case of early onset Pon Farr." She exclaimed! "This will require specialist treatment, do I have your permission to proceed with emergency oral resuscitation to relieve pressure?"

Eyes wide as saucers he nodded, his "yes" high pitched and constricted.

He watched in mesmerized fascination, knuckles gripping white against his knees as she set the tri-scanner aside to unfasten his belt buckle, before fumbling his button undone to slide the zipper down, struggling against the tightness of his arousal that strained taut against the pristine white cotton of his underpants.

Running her hand over the bulging outline, she reveled in its glorious rigidity and length, her touch rousing a sudden rasping intake of breath from him that fueled her own pulsation as she throbbed and budded for him in return.

In a swift movement, her wrist flicked to pull the elastic banding down and away and he sprang out, mere centimeters from her face. She enclosed his silken shaft in her hands, the smoothness and warmth of his skin a sweet surprise as she implored her brain to remember the lessons Penny had shared, but this was no banana and she was on her own now, no flaxen guru to guide her.

His musky, warm scent invaded her senses and, as the urge to taste him became irresistible, instinct took over. Touching her lips to him in a whispering, humid caress, she slipped the head of him into her mouth, the salty tang stinging her taste-buds as she suckled and swirled before lowering to engulf him, lips pushing his skin to and fro, as her tongue explored his texture and taste. His hands moved up to twist in her hair, following the movement of her head as she bobbed and lapped, up, down, up, down, before suddenly gripping hard, pulling painfully as a trembling quiver started in his thighs and a piquant briny zest warned her to stop before it was too late.

Squatting back, she raised her gaze to find the face of a man possessed, his wild-eyed features contorted with the intent strained expression of approaching orgasm and, as he inhaled a juddering gasp of frustrated desperation, she nearly lost her nerve.

"It's no good!" She explained. "It's too late! Only the antidote can save you Sheldon!"

"The antidote?" He struggled to enunciate his words in this frenzied state. "Amy, give me the antidote!"

She rose to stand before him, voice shaking as she plucked the courage from somewhere deep, deep inside.

"It's here." She breathed.

There was a long silent moment. Looking down to lock eyes with him, she explored those deep blue windows but they gave no clue to his internal workings, and the fear that she had badly misjudged this crept up her spine to shiver unwelcome goose-bumps on her skin.

The warmth of his hands on her bare backside made her jump and in one fluid movement, he slid lower on the couch and as his grip guided her forward, his mouth made contact.

What new bewitchment was this? The velvet brush of his tongue tip cautiously teased her, growing bolder with each touch till his lingual caress took up a lapping, swirling pattern as he mouthed her. Lost in the delirium of this sensual rapture she slipped into an abyss of hedonistic pleasure that trickled through her flesh, to shut out all else, till there was nothing but his feverishly plied tongue and the compressed sipping of his lips that obscured all else from existence.

A swelling balloon of pleasure filled her loins and she followed spellbound as his agile tongue led her down a narrowing path of ecstasy. Peaking to star-burst, she crowed a throaty plaintive cry as she spilled in an eddy of violent, spasmodic shivers that sapped the strength from her body till she was as limp and weak as a rag-doll.

In this flowing, sated state she followed his guidance to slide down, settling in his lap, face to face, mouth to mouth, as he slipped inside with ease, filling her as the convulsing voltaic twitches of her aftershocks gripped and contracted to jerk her body against him.

The taste of his sweetened lips, bathed in her piquant honeyed efflux, twisted her stomach in a wild flip of desire as she gyrated. She followed his lead as he set the rhythm of this sensual rumba, quickening the pace till his guiding hands on her hips tensed abruptly and he moaned with the overmastering thrill of release, clutching her body tightly as vibrant tremors rattled him, his murmurs of passionate gratitude sweeping across her mouth to whisper in her ear.

As they came back to earth, it was all she could do to hold on. She clasped him back and they clung like koalas as their hearts hammered together.

"Amy?' He breathed in her ear.

The effort expelled just to say her name was not lost on her.

"Uh huh." She responded in equal struggle.

"Social etiquette is not my strong point, so forgive me if this proposal is inappropriate and mistimed, but seeing you on your knees has triggered a rather interesting chain of thought." He faltered over each spoken word and the pitter-patter of her heart instantly changed direction to race wildly at their implication.

"Go on." She choked on the words, barely able to squeeze them out in her excitement.

"On 15th January, the next Anything Can Happen Thursday, would you dress up as R2D2?"


	12. The Vying Adversary Victory

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic **

**Chapter 12 : The Vying Adversary Victory**

**_I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self._**

**_Aristotle_**

"No now, Sheldon, it's not the winning that's important, it's the taking part." Amy cajoled.

"Oh spare me the clichéd garbage." He retorted shoving the mug of tea across the counter top towards her with a grating screech, presenting it with a curmudgeonly, "Here!"

"I think you'll find clichés almost universally stem from the truth." Amy countered, nodding to add a "thank you" as an acknowledging addendum.

"Well then, how about this quote from Lieutenant Worf? 'If winning is not important, then, Commander – why keep score?'. Pick the truth out of that smarty-pants!" He sniped.

"Lieutenant Worf? I'm guessing Star Trek?" She queried as she tentatively sipped from the steaming mug.

"Next Generation!" Penny's voice corrected from her vantage spot on the sofa, attracting the attention of all three as they spun, facing her in stunned awe, a glint of pride shining in Leonard's eye as a muzzy smile lifted his features.

"What the hell happened to me?" Penny blinked rapidly before continuing.

"Stop being a baby Sheldon, you can't swap the teams around! Amy's with me! It's girls versus boys, so suck it up!" She jutted her chin in defiance.

"But Leonard's dragging me down!" he bewailed.

"I'm dragging YOU down?" Leonard spluttered and choked on his coffee.

"Glad you realize it." The intonations flew straight over Sheldon's head as he made his way back to the white board to erase his drawings with enough aggravated vim to jangle its metal legs against the floor.

Honestly, short of actually writing the answer above the pictures, he failed to see how he could have made it any simpler. He shook his head as his clues were swept away by the eraser, clues so easy a five-year-old child could have worked them out, but which were seemingly too hard for Leonard!

Amy had never been a winner before. Had never once been picked for any side. Had always been the last girl standing in the school gym, cowed in mortified embarrassment, the losing team groaning in collective disappointment as she shuffled shamefully to join them when all their other options had run out.

But here, right now, she was no booby prize. Here, right now, her talents were coveted. Coveted, and fought for, not only by the most popular and beautiful of all the cheerleaders, but also by her brilliant and equally beautiful boyfriend. Whatever the outcome of games night, whatever the final score, Amy had already won, no leader-board was required.

Amy the winner; she hugged herself with the words.

Who found Waldo? Amy did.

Who Beat Leonard at dizzy division? Amy did.

Who rained kisses on the waxen honeysuckled hues of her boyfriend's graceful visage? Amy did. Amy did. Amy did!

Amy the winner!

If life was like the movies, right about now there'd be an upbeat musical number with a joyful choreographed troupe of twirling girls in bright dresses clapping along and kicking up their heels.

X

"Amy, we are grown adults, you cannot seriously expect me, Dr Sheldon Cooper BS, MS, MA, PhD and ScD to engage in an evening of moronic children's party games."

He swiped at the Twister spinner disdainfully, setting it on its merry way, before shooting her a look of hearty derision as he continued his tirade.

"When you suggested a repeat of Games Night without the restricting burden of Leonard and Penny's participation holding us back, frankly I expected you to do better than this dismal medley of nonsense."

Sheldon cocked his head, his lip curling with disappointment, as he surveyed the pile of gaudy boxes balanced upon her coffee table.

Slapping her hand atop to cease the distracting whir of the spinner, Amy ignored him to continue to unpack and set out the plastic Twister sheet on the floor.

"Whilst I thoroughly enjoy Dungeons and Dragons, especially how we play it." She chanced a look and was rewarded with a tiny blush that tinged his cheeks as he averted his eyes. "I think you missed out not playing these games as a boy Sheldon."

"I hardly think so!" He snorted, shaking his head slowly.

"There are prizes." She tempted.

"Is that what the Milk Duds are for?" He picked up the packet and rattled it. "Amy, I'm an adult in full time employment, if I want candy then I just go buy some."

"Nothing tastes as delicious as the sweet, sweet taste of victory candy!" She wiggled her eyebrows persuasively as he harrumphed.

"And there are penalties too." She dropped the lure casually, almost as if an afterthought.

"Penalties?" He met her eye and held her gaze; she'd clearly caught his attention now.

"Yes!" With a flick of her finger she set the spinner on its way again, breaking their stare-off to watch as it spun in rapid rotations to finally falter and stop on left foot blue.

Looking up, she found his focus still intently fixed on her as she spurred. "Sheldon Cooper, I challenge you to a game of Strip Twister!"

"Strip Twister!" He declared more than a little taken aback. "I'm six foot two, my reach far outstretches your own, you're going to lose, and you're going to lose badly, in absolute totality in fact. Amy, you're going to end up naked. Naked and humiliated!"

"I'll take my chances, I think you underestimate my flexibility Dr Cooper." She challenged as she spread the final wrinkle from the sheet and rose like a gymnast in a limber flowing stretch to hammer her point home.

"Fine! But don't say you weren't warned." He rose from the sofa to approach the brightly spotted board, toeing off his shoes before placing his left foot on the nearest blue circle.

"Left foot, blue. Prepare to get the drubbing of your life Dr Fowler."

He reached for the spinner on the coffee table and sent it whizzing, watching as the blurred pointer slowed to become solid, visible again as it decelerated, wavering and wobbling to a stop.

"Right foot red." He ordered as she took up her position at the opposite side to him, before twisting to spin for him.

"Right hand green." She smirked.

"Easy!" He smirked back.

"No kneeling or sitting!" She warned watching like a hawk. "Aha! Knee down! Penalty!"

"Did not!" He protested.

"Really?" Her voice dripped sardonically.

"Fine!" He huffed, dropping his pose to sit as he pulled off his left sock, waving it at her, his voice equally sardonic. "Happy?"

"Very much so." She confirmed smugly as she watched the spinner whiz in ever decreasing circles to slow and stop on left foot yellow. With a wink and a smug little smile she pirouetted as gracefully as a ballerina to face away from him with her legs akimbo, having to bend down to reach the spinner as he pushed it within her reach.

Sheldon struggled to keep his eyes on the spinning dial as Amy presented herself bent double, as if in some sort of stone age primal mating stance. By sheer will, he forced his eyes to follow the marker as it came to rest, right hand green, again! What was it with him and right hand green?

Still, he was starting afresh so he maneuvered to the green side to squat down and place his hand on the furthest green circle to the right. From this angle he had a very clear, level view of her rounded backside, he tried not to stare as she slid the dial between her legs for him to spin for her.

"Right hand green!" Again! He laughed at the irony; third time was the charm. Now he had her.

She almost made it. Almost. Her left hand came down to block her fall as the right stretched over and she toppled to land smack down on those very same ample buttocks he'd just that minute been admiring. Her tights became the spoils of his first victory.

Her cardigan his second triumph; left foot yellow.

Defeated once more, his penalty to surrender his second sock; left hand red.

And again, to lose his trousers this time; right foot blue.

Her jubilant cockiness at her double victory was premature, she gave up her skirt; left hand yellow.

Then in humility, almost immediately forfeited her blouse; right hand blue.

He did however, begin to wonder if his earlier chutzpah had been misjudged as he relinquished his t-shirt; right foot red.

And now sincerely regretted his blustering braggadocio as he lost his undershirt; left foot green.

With the vanquishing of her brassiere, left hand red again, it was now all to play for, her panties versus his underpants, the game was on!

From his doubled over stance he once again struggled to focus as he sent the spinner on its dizzying way. He tried and tried to keep his eyes on the fuzzy whirring pointer but like a moth to a flame his eyes crept up to savor the ivory and soft pink tones of her flesh, the swing of her breasts as she bent lower towards the spinner hypnotic and alluring. He inhaled deeply and thought of things unpleasant, trying to distract himself with the pictures in his illustrated book of STIs to kick-start his Kolinahr technique, but the scent of her permeated his nostrils.

She smelt thoroughly clean, the coal tar aroma of her shampoo closing in on him as she squatted beside him in obedience to place her left hand on the middle red circle while her right hand reached to set in dial back in action.

"Right hand red." She announced, the disappointment in her voice tangible as she watched him slide his hand easily over the minute distance from his current adjacent blue circle before pushing the spinner toward his free hand.

"Left hand green." He instructed as the marker settled.

Her hand slid across the board underneath his body and he sucked in a lungful of air, heavy with her heady aroma, as her soft, smooth shoulders followed, tickling and teasing the flesh on his stomach. Her heat prickled against his skin in the most delectable way as her back slid beneath him, warm and undulating with each breath as the pure perfume of her went on the offensive to attack and overpower his sensibilities. The uncoiling, slithering sensation in his stomach warned him that he'd need something stronger than a Vulcan mind control technique to distract his mind from the carnal pathway that beckoned, the hex of her soft body enticing him as he began to tighten in desire.

Sliding the dial to her right hand, he stole a glimpse of her peachy flesh pressed beguilingly against his own paler tones, soft, yielding and smooth. Too close to focus on the entirety of her, the little snatches of creased flesh and rosy nipple only made the vision of her more erotic, almost voyeuristic as he snook a peek and felt his arousal build, to flutter and thrum in a pulsing wanting throb for her.

"Left hand yellow!" Her voice spoke of unfairness as the pointer landed once more on an easy move for him.

It was simply a case of setting his hand down but the pull of her luminous flesh called him like a siren song.

As if of its own accord, his hand began its slow, careful journey. With a touch as gentle as if petting a caged bird, his fingers trailed the contours of her neck to follow a passage that traced and teased the peaky bud of her nipple then lowered to glide across the spasmodic convulsions of her torso, dipping and caressing the indentation of her navel, before passing just a whisper of a touch over the radiating heat of her cotton panties, her intake of breath sharp and rasping as he finally dropped his hand away to settle on the yellow circle on the board below.

"Will you spin for me?" He whispered, both hands supporting his weight now, the galvanic press of her flesh almost agonizing in her tantalizing proximity.

Wordlessly her right hand reached again, the heavenly glide of skin against skin creating a frisson of charged sparks as his insides tightened and craved.

"Right hand red." She acknowledged as she began to move, the twisting of her torso mirroring the twisting in his loins, her fleshy buttocks aligning against his straining arousal making him twitch in an almost overriding appetence till suddenly their skin bond broke and she tumbled to land spread-eagled and prone upon the clinging plastic of the board.

Sheldon had never been disappointed about winning anything before that moment. However, the exhilaration of watching her un-stick her dewed skin from the board before she slipped her panties down and off in bettered penance quashed any regret as his pulse raced and rushed in a turmoil of tumultuous passion that overwhelmed to leave him momentarily at a loss for words.

Amy's eyes drew him from her creamy skin and he felt himself slipping under, spellbound by the lascivious knowingness in that bottomless green stare.

"Congratulations Dr Cooper." Her mouth pouted with a sensitive humorous hesitation, as if it were suspending judgment about a funny story that was being told.

Reaching behind her, she took up the Milk Duds, proffering them with the words. "I'd like the chance to win some of them back if I may?"

"Would you now?" He teased as he took them. "Well, never let it be said that Sheldon Cooper is anything but chivalrous and philanthropic. What do you propose Dr Fowler?"

Scrambling up in an excited tizzy, Amy grabbed the top box from the pile, turning to present it's cover as she announced. "Operation!"

"So, for each item retrieved we win a chocolate?" He guessed, feeling more than a little deflated.

"Alack, sadly I am missing most of the pieces and the bulb's broken in the little man's nose." She gave a regretful shrug. "Oh, and he no longer buzzes either."

"Then how on earth can we play Operation Amy?" He exasperated.

'We just need these." The plastic inside the box crackled as she manipulated the cards from their little compartment.

"And this." She stooped to pick up a blindfold, which he'd, wrongly, assumed was for blind man's buff.

"And these!" And with that she snatched the chocolate box from his surprised hand before turning to head for her bedroom.

Stopping in the doorway, she seemed surprised at his inertia, turning to beckon. "Well, come on then!"

Following trancelike in some confusion, he found her waiting for him, buzzing in eager enthusiam by her bed.

"I'm not sure I understand the rules?" He queried, genuinely puzzled.

'Fine, lay on the bed and I'll talk you through it." She beckoned with her hand like some corny game show hostess.

Capitulating, he reclined, eyes suspicious as he struggled to concentrate while the beguiling muliebrity of her soft curves taunted him.

"Take a card." She thrust the fanned deck towards him.

He did so.

"Take a chocolate." Popping the pack open she shook one into the palm of his outstretched hand.

"Now, I'll put the blindfold on." She reached to the bedside table where it lay.

"Then you place the chocolate where the card says, and I've got to find it, but," here she paused for effect, "I can only use my mouth." She licked her lips in anticipation and a shiver of electricity flushed his skin at the very idea of her lips on his flesh.

"Tell me when you're ready?" Her voice wobbled, trilling with excitement as she masked her sight, tying the gaudy red paisley scarf tightly behind her head.

He eyed the card in disappointment, 'Adam's Apple'. Then briefly considered cheating, wondering how quickly he could locate the 'Bread Basket' card, but she'd be able to hear if he did that wouldn't she?

"Ready." He called and he placed the candy between his lips and waited expectantly in subdued breathless impatience.

The tingle of her hand on his abdomen contracted his muscles in a spasming quiver. Tracing her hand over she fumbled into position to kneel above him on all fours, the soft flesh of her inner thighs hot and tacky against his legs as she descended to clamber backwards off the bed to kneel at his feet, pausing as if saying her bedtime prayers.

The humid gust of her hot breath made his insides slither as she pressed her lips to the instep of his left foot, feathering kisses to ascend his shin, up to his knee, the advancing sensation of her lips on his thigh arousing such a thrill of anticipation that he threshed and squirmed with an exquisite torturous expectancy, only to be dashed in frustration as she switched, ceasing her ministrations to retreat and explore his right foot.

The excruciating pressure built as she climbed again, his muscles twitching and convulsing as she reached the banding of his underwear and he cursed his earlier victory, the cotton barrier blocking the contact of his flesh and her curious, exploring mouth.

There was only one way for her to go and she was thorough in her search, sweeping her lips across his groin, the heat of her breath teasing him mercilessly blowing hot through the material as she navigated from side to side, each touch of her mouth paradoxically both expected but still surprising in its ability to delight and thrill.

He felt the first flicker of her tongue as she trailed up to his chest, jumping as her mouth latched on to first one nipple, then the other, the soft suction shooting volts to his groin till his whole being ached with a ravenous lewd hunger.

Trailing butterfly kisses up his neck, she neared the prize. The softening chocolate sweetened his lips as she sought it, her tongue tipping to find the sugary melted mess as she licked the sweet nectar from his lips.

He was not giving up his prize so easily. Sucking the gooey chocolate inside to settle on his tongue, he closed his teeth in a protective cage around it. Tenacious in her pursuit, her tongue railed against his enamel prison, sucking his bottom lip, trailing in teasing laps on his top lip till he acquiesced to allow her entry. Her tongue curled to claim the sticky reward and he yielded to surrender, pushing the treasured candy into her mouth with his own. Her acknowledging "mmm" vibrating a current of electricity that tremored through shaking him to his very core.

Sitting back, she untied the scarf while she chewed in exaggerated victory. Her bareness pressed down heavy against his constricted groin and he fought the urge to grab her, to pin her and rut like an animal, the moistness of her and the pulsing heat making the temptation almost unbearable.

"Your turn." She dropped the scarf on his chest as she rolled away.

"Chocolate?" She extended her hand and he reached for the box to dispense one into her rather sweaty palm, it started to melt immediately as he rushed to tie the scarf around his eyes.

'Ready!" Her voice quavered shrilly as she lay supine and he followed the sound to position himself above her, feeling her chocolate tinged breath blowing as he lowered his lips to hers.

No Milk Dud there, but her mouth sought his greedily, reaching up to him as his lips touched hers with just the barest brush, he retreated to tease and torment, it was payback time.

The trail of her neck was heated, burning his lips with a salty sting as he scouted, nipping and sucking, exploring with his tongue tip as he lowered to circle erect nipples, her body juddering to jolt with each touch. Suckling now he gave up any pretense of seeking the chocolate and instead enjoyed the sounds that were now resonating, feeling as her whimpering cries vibrated in unison through his mouth as they rolled from her throat till he descended further still.

Her skin was animated with jumping, shuddering contractions as he trailed lower and lower, the tickle of her hair guiding him towards his Arcadia till his mouth found the glossy, slippery dew of slick flesh and a sweet, stiff nubbin that most certainly was not a Milk Dud.

Regardless, he claimed his prize with an amorous vigor, probing with frenetic stabs of his tongue, sucking and lapping her sweet spot in a relentless gyre as she jigged her hips, taking up a convulsive rhythm till she quenched, legs trembling to wrap and crush as she spilled her unctuous ambrosia with shivering jerks and gutteral gasps.

The shuddering convulsions of her apex dislodged the melting Milk Dud from her navel. Staining her skin, it marked its passage to the bed sheets then to the floor before it rolled away to disappear, perhaps someday to be rediscovered, to evoke a joyous memory at some much later date in their time-line. It settled under Amy's bedside cabinet, its sticky surface embedded with fluff and detritus, to await that day.

Who beat Sheldon at Blindfold Operation? Amy did!

Amy the winner.

In the musical of her life, a chorus of can-can girls kicked their legs skyward in an impassioned frenzy. The frou frou rustle of their skirts frantic, flashing electrical frictions in bright bursts of lurid color as they jiggled and wriggled faster and faster and faster and faster to the accelerating tempo of Offenbach's Infernal Galop. Swarming to race the eponymous Orpheus to the sinful, wanton, lustful delights of the Underworld in a seething, weltering mass of trembling stocking tops, heaving bosoms and orgasmic whoops. Upsurging together en masse, cascading the whelm of the tide in a billowing caterwauling climax as they toppled one by one, legs splitting wide to embrace the ground in a slaked zenith of sweet oblivion.


	13. The Myopic Icarus Effect

**The Emancipation Denouement, A Shamy Fan Fic**

**Chapter 13 : The Myopic Icarus Effect**

It was a matter of duty really. Sheldon had taken her side (well, eventually) in her Fun with Flags dispute with Wheaton and now it was only right and just that she take up his cause.

It was an absolutely effrontery, she totally agreed. The parking spot was Sheldon's. It formed part of his employment contract. What next, was the University going to take some of Sheldon's salary he 'wasn't using' and give that to their little astronaut meat puppet too?

No, no, no, it simply wouldn't do; to borrow a phrase, she had his back Jack!

Plus, he was sexy when he was all fired up. In her opinion, the glimpses of the passion that bubbled just beneath the surface within him served as little clues as to what lay under all that suppression and transmutation. It made her reproductive system smolder in itchy anticipation.

Right now though, her external parts were enflamed all of their own accord. Who knew that being beautiful was so God-damned painful? Waxing was surely a torture that could only have been summoned from the twisted mind of the Marquis de Sade?

Dabbing antiseptic cream on the weeping fissures, she carefully applied the adhesive bandages, being especially careful not to stick any on her remaining hair. Frankly she'd been plucked enough for one day, and her spat with Bernadette had stung as much as the waxing.

Till now, Bernadette had flitted more or less unnoticed in her peripheral vision, an unfocused hazy figure; she had had her eye on the golden prize of Penny. Weighing her up now, she allowed that she was indeed a formidable foe, and not one to underestimate. Amy had never been one to start trouble, but bring it to her door, well then, more fool you, she took no prisoners.

Oh, it was on alright! It was on like Alderaan! As she punched her first into her hand she decided that one day she'd have to lookup that phrase, all she knew was it was some Star Wars Trek thing that the boys liked to say!

It was in this fired up state that she stood guard while Sheldon reclaimed his rightful property. The thrilling sight of him squatting with a spray-can in his hand like a graffiting hoodlum encouraged her to take a chance, spurred her on to show him that she was a rebel too.

"That's a lot of Band Aids!" was not the response she was hoping for in this little game of You Show Me Yours, and he most certainly didn't reciprocate to show her his. But neither did he run screaming; that was a positive she supposed. Oh well, she'd have to mark this little experiment down as a partial success.

It was not till Penny got hurt that she snapped herself out of it and accepted they'd got carried away. That there are no victors in war is a well worn idiom, except now, all of a sudden for her the ghost of Bernadette had taken form and substance, so perhaps it was not so strictly true after all.

The sudden epiphany of Bernadette's candidacy and absolute suitability for friendship came as quite a shock to her. How had she been so obtuse to miss their obvious compatibility? She'd been blinded, that's how, dazzled by shining beauty and blonde perfection. Ironic really that it took the battering obliteration of this very beauty to highlight what had been under her nose all along.

How on earth had she missed Bernadette all this time? Her comrade, her conspirator, her sympathizer in shared experience, but most importantly, her equal. How had she never properly seen her before now? She'd been more than shortsighted, but then it's common knowledge that you should never look directly into the sun isn't it?

X

"Of course you have to come!" Amy exasperated. "This is Penny's big moment, she wants her friends there. She wants you there Sheldon!"

"Why on earth would I want to spend an evening hobnobbing with a bunch of gormless ventriloquists dummies who lie for living in order to celebrate a preposterous movie about killer hybrid monkeys that is destined to sink to the bottom of the DVD release charts on it's first day and from there spend all of eternity languishing in the bargain basement bin in Walmarts?" He argued.

"Because Penny is your friend, and that's what you do for your friends!" She brought the discussion to a close as she finished on. "Besides, it's a non-optional social convention." Thank Heavens for Howard and the gift of this little gem he'd shared with her.

Sheldon remained tightlipped but his expression spoke of ungracious compromise.

"Besides," Amy sweetened the pill, "your good buddy Will Wheaton will be there."

"I can see him whenever I care to, and not be in the uncomfortable position of having to be polite about his God-awful movie. You know I can't lie!" He grizzled.

"Well, we've got a week, we can work on it, plan a few polite responses maybe?" She suggested. "How's the 'pleased to see you' face coming on, have you been practicing?"

He pulled a macabre grimace of such horrific proportions she actually recoiled.

"We've got a week!" She assured, more to herself than him. Blowing a puff of exasperation, she reflected that she sure had a long slog ahead of her.

- x -

"Oh Penny, you're every inch the movie star!" Amy gushed as Leonard opened the door of the limousine, a proud smile playing on his lips as he bowed in mock deference as she folded her glorious red satin gown to take her seat.

"You guys okay to follow?" Leonard turned as he shut the door, pulling at his bow tie nervously.

There was room in the limo for the whole gang, but this car had cost Leonard a small fortune, and he was reluctant to share Penny tonight. There'd be enough chancers clamoring for a piece of his fiancé when they got there, right now, she was his and for the short journey to the theatre, he wanted her all to himself.

"SO BEAUTIFUL!" Amy mouthed through the closed window, earning a mimed 'thank you' back as Penny clutched her hands together, glowing with barely suppressed excitement.

Tearing herself away, she joined Sheldon, handsome in his black suit, as he waited not so patiently in the passenger seat of her car.

"I can't believe it! I'm best friends with a movie star and I'm invited to an actual real live red-carpet Hollywood premiere!" She adjusted her tiara in her rear view mirror as she twittered, noting from the corner of her eye Sheldon's eye-roll and headshake, he did not look up from his phone as he studiously ignored her peppy enthusiam.

The first sign that all was not as she imagined was as they pulled up behind the limo. No bright lights greeted them. No obvious theater either come to that! No crowd of adoring fans and flashing camera bulbs, just one balding middle-aged guy with a carrier bag standing placidly behind the tatty and faded red ropes who gave a rather self-conscious and subdued "Yay!" as Penny and Leonard disembarked and followed the roped carpeted route to disappear down the alleyway between the two buildings.

Amy drew level with the bouncer with the clipboard. He viewed her with disinterest as she questioned. "Is this the Serial Apeist premiere?" in some disbelief.

"Uh huh!" He was almost too apathetic to talk. "Park your car in the supermarket car park madam." He made an unenthusiastic effort to lift his digit to point across the road.

Pulling up next to Howard's car she struggled to control her disappointment, the 'told you so' expression on Sheldon's face made her want to scream but he had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself as they made their way mutely back.

"Names?" The bouncer's obvious detachment bled into the word.

"Dr Amy Farrah Fowler and Dr Sheldon Cooper." She strove to keep her voice lively, besides, regardless of the situation, saying her name in connection with Sheldon's always gave her a little boost, no matter what the situation.

The bouncer's eyes scaled the clipboard before a tiny spark of recognition lit upon him and he unclipped the rope, moving back to allow them entry.

"Enjoy Serial Apeist 2, Monkey See, Monkey Kill." He parroted indifferently as they passed to follow what Amy guessed had once been a red carpet (perhaps it still would be if someone gave it a good vacuuming) along the alleyway where a neon sign fizzed and flickered to indicate the entrance.

A second, equally unenthusiastic greeter sat behind a desk as they entered the cramped cloakroom. A large sign on the desk informing them. **_'No recording equipment to be taken into the theater. Please check in your phones here.'_**

Watching as the girl bagged and labeled her phone she took the little ticket with a 'thank you" and looked expectantly to Sheldon. He stared at her blankly before turning to walk away towards the noisy hum of the room beyond.

"Sheldon, you need to check in your phone." She hissed scurrying to catch up.

"Over my dead body." He retorted. "Is it not enough that you've got me here Amy? You can't seriously expect me to waste 2 hours of my life watching this drivel!"

"I most certainly do expect that Sheldon!" She clarified, her voice deadly serious.

"Well forget it! I most certainly won't be and, thanks to your help, I don't need to either." He snarked before he softened his voice and face to enthuse. "Your performance was so touching and really moved me!"

He smirked, then broke their standoff to peer about the room.

"There're the others." He nodded in the direction of the gang at the bar and walked off, leaving her trailing behind him as she "excused me" and "sorry-ed" her way over as the small crowd jostled to close ranks behind his wake.

- x -

It was a big screen for a small theater, close and claustrophobic. If the copious lurid splashes of red gore were making even her feel queasy, she wondered how those not used to blood were coping. Chancing a glance down the row she did note some of the guests bore a distinct and rather pallid green hue, unlike the conspicuous glow of Sheldon, who sat looking ethereal and somehow other worldly in the seat next to her, his milky paleness illuminated by the blue light of his phone screen.

Ominous footsteps thudded down the gangway to her left. She could smell the raw leather of the man's utility belt as he stopped beside her aisle seat.

"Sir, you need to hand in your phone!" His deep voice resonated in the darkened theatre and the heads of the surrounding guests snapped in their direction. Amy's heart dropped and skin blazed red in embarrassment as his flashlight found them.

Her gaze followed the torch beam to the stern face of the bouncer who had spoken. She nudged Sheldon hard in the ribs with her elbow feeling awkwardly overexposed as she whispered out of the side of her mouth in mortification. "Hand it over!"

"Not a chance!" Sheldon shifted in his seat to peer round her. "Under what authority do you have the right to impound my property?" He addressed the man directly, his face defiant and self-righteous.

"Under current HSI/FBI rules sir, copyright infringement is punishable by up to 5 years imprisonment and a fine of $250,000, now hand over your phone and we'll let the matter drop!" The bouncer growled.

Sheldon snorted in derision, his lip curling as he scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself! It's bad enough that I have to sit through this garbage once, do you honestly think I'd record this abysmal excuse attempting to pass as entertainment here and put myself through it again, or subject anyone else to it for that matter? I think you'll find there's no law against playing Cut The Rope in a darkened theater while an appalling movie plays in the background."

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir. You're causing a disturbance and ruining the movie for the other guests." The man was disturbingly close now, leaning over Amy so she could smell the sulphur of his breath.

"I'm ruining "this" movie!" Sheldon's "Ha!" was dismissive and derogatory. "And under what jurisdiction do you think you have the right to remove me, I am an invited guest?"

At this the man made his move. In a flash Amy shot up to stand between them.

"Please move to the side madam!" He rasped through gritted teeth his eyes burning straight through her to seek Sheldon.

"I'm sure we can come to some amicable agreement without resorting to physical violence." She placated in reasoned tones, her hand outstretched to bar his advance any further.

Her plea brought the bouncer's attention back to her. Suddenly everything slowed and blurred and she watched as his hands moved up to either side of her arms, feeling the prickling pressure of his large clumsy palms crawling her flesh as he bodily forced her back towards her seat and tried to push his way past.

Big mistake!

Big, big mistake!

- x -

"You're lucky, Mr Mitchell has decided not to press charges." The officer gave her an encouraging smile as he joked. "I guess brandishing a shiner is par for the course in his line of work, but I don't doubt he'll be keeping quiet about the perpetrator of this particular one."

"Thank you. That's a relief." Amy bowed her head in gratitude as she blew out a fractured sigh of release.

"I believe this is yours." The officer pushed her phone towards her, still contained in the labeled see-through plastic bag, and given her current situation, it was alarmingly evocative of evidence from a crime scene.

"Thank you." She stowed it in her clutch bag without bothering to unwrap it, keen to get this episode over as soon as possible.

"Okay, you're free to go." He gave her a tight smile as he packed up his notepad, pen and radio.

Escaping the stifling closeness of the little back room she found the bar deserted, silent now except for the clinks and jangles as the barman loaded glasses into the dishwasher whilst the miasma of alcohol and warm bodies clung to the air.

Sheldon waited alone in subdued meekness, looking somewhat diminished as he perched in gauche inelegance on a tall bar stool, raising his head to meet her hard stare as she approached.

By some telepathic understanding he joined her and they made for the door together in hurried silence, speaking in dull monotones as they traversed the scrubby red carpet to follow the draw of the streetlights glinting at the end of the alleyway.

"He dropped the charges?" He questioned, although it was more a rhetorical question, spoken to break the oppressive silence that had formed a barrier between them.

"Yes." Her voice was expressionless, the first glimmer of worry and regret breaking though as she asked. "How was Penny?"

"Not happy." He didn't expand; he thought it best not to. "Give her a few days."

They reached the end of the alley, crossing the sidewalk to wait at the curb.

"Though you'll be pleased to hear she's blaming me for the most part." He offered this tidbit as an afterthought as they scanned the traffic for a large enough gap to cross.

"It was your fault! All of it!" She gaped at him in utter disbelief her voice ringing around the deserted streets.

"I'm prepared to accept some blame." He conceded.

"Urgh!" She was lost for words; sometimes the man infuriated her beyond coherence.

Taking her chances she jaywalked, dodging the traffic as she approached her car in an anger-fueled quick march that took her away from the orange-tinged streetlights and the now diminishing swishing rush of tires on tarmac. There were no lights on in the supermarket now, and her car stood forlornly in the inky blackness at the far edge of the car park, it's bleeping and flashing lights greeting her as she pressed her remote locking.

"Don't be mad at me." His voice was very close, his breath hot on her neck and she wondered how he'd managed to catch her up so quickly as she reached for the door handle. "Everyone's mad at me, don't you be too."

"You deserve everyone being angry with you Sheldon!" She retorted not turning to face him but ceasing her movements to rest her hand on the door handle.

"I know." His humility made her start; she was even more surprised as his hot damp whisper blew in her ear sincerely. "Amy, I'm sorry."

"You should be." She knew she was being ungracious but, right now, after the disappointment and awfulness of the night she'd just had, she was in no charitable mood, plus the cold air was getting to her hand, making it ache where it had contacted with the bouncer's, sorry, he had a name, Mr Mitchell's eye-socket.

"Amy, will you look at me?" He squeezed even closer so the heat of his body was pressed along the full length of her.

"No." She refused.

"But there's something I want to say." His lips brushed her ear in a delicious shiver but she remained resolute.

"Then say it." She replied remaining unmoved. "Say it, and then we can go home and write this awful night off for lost."

"Amy." His hands clasped her waist, the large span of them spreading, kneading as they advanced. "I like that I'm the only one who can touch you."

His words made her breath catch and she reined in her racing pulse to answer as emotionlessly as possible.

"It's always been that way Sheldon, you saw to it, we have it in notarized and mutually agreed binding contract do we not?"

"Perhaps I am only just starting to appreciate the significance of it." His undulating exploring hands roamed higher, cupping her breasts and she felt the hardness of his excitement dig into the small of her back as he breathed in a humid caress against her neck. "I like that you're mine and no-one else's."

Amy did not trust herself to speak; the pure physical pleasure of his hands upon her was turning her spine to jelly. His artful fingers located her nipples to tweak and tease, unmerciful in their cunning as they coaxed them to stiffen beneath her evening dress and brassiere, the pressure of his arousal on her back, made her pulse and swell as longing and appeasement throbbed in her loins.

"Tell me you're mine." He entreated.

She surrendered, heaving the words, forcing them from her throat. "I'm yours."

"Tell me you want me to touch you." He urged.

"Oh God, I do!" She squirmed beneath his touch as she panted. "I want you to touch me Sheldon."

His right hand made the tantalizing journey down across her abdomen, the thrill of the touch making her thrum in agonizing need. He couldn't get there quick enough and she quivered in anticipation as he glided his trailing fingers up her skirt to negotiate the elastic of her panties, reaching inside to cup, divide and seek, the electric shock of his contact finally quelling the agony as her center impatiently hopped like a jumping bean for him as his sultry breath misted her neck.

Pulling restlessly at her lower lip with her teeth she leaned against the cool metal and glass of her car and gave herself up to his relentless rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. Angling her hips to push down on his adroit fingers, the intensification built in a rippling, jumbling flurry of seething, surging elation till she tumbled, falling with a gluttonous cry of satiated relief as she unwound, flushing with gratification and succoring serenity.

His need was urgent now, digging hard against her as he ground, seeking the same satisfaction, desperate in his tugging to raise her skirt, to be inside her.

"Back seat!" She rasped and in an instant, and for the second time that evening, she felt herself bundled aside as he wrenched the back door open, a murky yellow beam of interior light illuminating the darkness as he maneuvered her to the threshold.

Clambering inside she slid on her bottom along the back seat as he advanced, mouth hungrily seeking hers, hands frantically fumbling for leverage as he attempted to fold himself into the confined space atop of her.

"Close the door, close the door!" She flustered and in an amazing feat of acrobatic agility he managed to reach behind to slam the door and simultaneously squeeze into the instantly encompassing blanket of obliterating darkness, kneeling on the upholstery as he grappled with her panties to wrench them off. The telling sound of his unfastening belt buckle and zipper serving to alert her ears to his progress long before her eyes had had enough time to adjust to the sudden tenebrosity of the back seat.

A firm grip lifted her hips to meet him as he crouched above and in the cramped confines of her car she pressed her feet against the roof to impale herself upon him, leg muscles gripping his shoulders as his arms pinioned her and hips thrusted in rapacious need, once, twice, till on the third he buckled and collapsed in a glut of overwrought rapture and a heaving mire of strained whimpers as his body trembled and pulsed about her.

- x -

It was a sticky and uncomfortable drive home with her panties bunched between her legs in an attempt to save the material of her front seat.

"Have you forgiven me yet?" He pestered again as she stopped at a red light.

"Hmm." She answered in a non-committal way; she could see his glimmering, puppy-dog expression of hope from the corner of her eye.

"You know, we'll look back and laugh about this night." He pressed. "It will be something to tell our grandchildren."

At his words she turned, mouth agape.

"Our grandchildren?" She repeated, heeding his words incredulously.

"Your grandchildren." He stumbled and stammered, attempting to bury his revelatory divulgence with a jokey. "Perhaps not the last bit though!"

"No, perhaps not." She let it slide, for now, and a warm glow engulfed her body, tingling from her toes upwards as the words danced in her head and held her in a warm embrace; 'Our grandchildren'!

The lights turned amber and she brought her attention back to the road as she prepared to pull away.

Yes, he was forgiven, that revealing erroneously omitted Y had served to wipe his slate clean. However, she decided it best to keep this little snippet of information to herself, for the time being anyway.


End file.
